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iii tefei 



S-K Hie.-S" 





Museum of Comparative Zoology 









Come, come, dear friends ! 

Beneath the open sky abroad, 
Among the plants and breathing things, 

The blessed, peaceful works of God, — 
Let's share the calm this Season brings ! 






Agent for Dublin, John Wiseheakt ; Edinburgh, J. Menzies ; 
Glasgow, John M'Leod, 66, Argyle Street. 







On the completion of our Third Volume, it may be expected 
that we should, as usual, offer a few passing remarks. 

It will be remembered, that the Editor of this Periodical has ever 
been proudly desirous that it should stand w alone" among the Serials. 
This, at a considerable pecuniary cost, and an immense amount of 
mental and bodily labor, has been accomplished. Its genial tone, 
and lofty aim, have been recognised and appreciated; its fame has gone 
abroad ; and its patrons— not a few, are the very choicest of u choice 
spirits." All the supporters of our Journal have indeed been fairly 
" won." We hardly need say that we hate " fine writing." We love 
Nature ; and therefore write " naturally." All our Correspondents are 
of the same " happy family." 

Hitherto, ours has been a " labor of love" only. Not one penny 
in the way of remuneration have we yet received. " Faith" and 
" Hope" have supported us thus far. Now let the public kindly play 
the part of " Charity," and philanthropically enlarge the sphere of our 
usefulness ; then are we willing to credit the hint given us — that 
" another six months must see us triumphant." 

Bold as the effort may be deemed, we will e'en make it. 


New Road, Hammersmith, 

July 1st, 1853. 


Advantages of (so called) Vermin, 319 
Animals, Their Art of Self-Preservation, 318 
Ants and Bees, 57 

Aquatic Vivarium in the Regent's Park, 351 
Ardent Spirits, Beer, Tobacco, &c, 186, 253, 263, 

Australia, Notes on, 17, 125, 314, 319 
Auto-Biography of a Dog, 33, 101, 167, 233, 298, 

Aviary, The, and its Occupants, 26, 90, 154, 215, 

Aviary at Rugby, 56, 376 

Baker's Poultry Fountains, 371 

Bathing, Its Use and Abuse, 196, 249 

Beauty, 268, 272 

Beautiful Lily, A, 310 

Birds of Song, — Reprinted, with Additions, from 

the Gardeners' Chronicle— -23, 88, 152, 216, 

Birds' Nests, Curious Situations for, 375, 376 
Bird's Nest, a Costly, 319 
Birds, Singularity of, 256 
Birds, Tameness of, 188 
Birds in Town and Birds in the Country, 181 
Birds and Bird-Catchers, 370 
Blackbird, The, 23, 88, 95, 122, 152, 316 
Blessing of Sight and Hearing, 6 
Blood, The, of Animals, 202 
Blue-cap, The, 54, 375 
Bread. Experiments on, 300 
Bullfinch, The, 53 

Camel Journey across the Desert, 350 
Canary, The, 57, 182, 244, 309 
Canaries Breeding in the Open Air, 253 
Cats, 124, 311, 318 
Cats without Tails, 55, 57 
Cats and Dogs Contrasted, 35 
Cats and Squirrels, 220 
Chaffinch, The, 318 

Character Reading by the Handwriting, 336 
Chemistry of Nature, The, 309 
Christmas Rose, The, 62 
Chrysanthemums for Seed, 189 
Coal, History of, 291 
Cockatoo, The, 54 
Cod, The, 181 
Cold and Thirst, 208 
Color imparted to Oil, 180, 245 
Cricket, The, 256 

Cruelty to Animals, 56, 63, 83, 121, 185, 226, 248, 

Cuckoo,'The, 161,1166, 244, 318 

Dahlia, The, 311 

Death in the Pot! 191 

Destructive Birds, 313 

Dew, 19 

Dog, Distemper in the, 21 

Dogs, Anecdotes of, 54, 62, 121, 126, 191, 235, 

Dormouse, The, 255, 315 
Dressmakers of London, The, 267 

Earwig, Notes on the, 364 
Eating and Drinking, &c, 340 
Editorial Secret, 335 
Electric Telegraph in America, 83» 
Emperor Moth, The, 253, 309 
Enchanted Valley, 348 
England, — or the Tropics? 313 
Epping Forest, — A Ramble, 316 


An Afternoon Ramble, 327 ; Art of Success, 207 ; 
Blessing of Moderation, 136 ; Character from 
the Handwriting, 336 ; Cheapness and Mean- 
ness, 70, 180 ; Childhood, 273 ; Child's Heart, 
A, 209 ; China and the Chinese, 258, 273, 289 ; 
Country Pleasures and Dangers, 200 ; Cup of 
Tea, A, 49 ; Delights of a Garden, 326 ; Edi- 
torial Secret, 335 ; Education in England and 
Germany, 270; England and America, 199; 
Fashion, The Tyrant, 159, 160; Gems at Home, 
323 ; Gentility ! 159 ; Gulls and their Victims, 
11, 333; Happiness and its Opposite, 65; 
Honesty and Deception, 365 ; Human Misery 
in the Streets, 211 ; Industry and Idleness, 366 ; 
Letters and Letter-Writers, 257 ; Little Kind- 
nesses, 7; Love of Flowers, 134 ; " Mistress and 
Servant," 129, 135, 143, 265; Moon's Rays, 
The, 225 ; Nature and Art, 140 ; Nature's 
Holiday, 4; Order and Method, 142 ; Our Notes 
of the Months, 14, 85, 149, 218, 286, 321, 341 ; 
Painter's, The, Revelation, 269 ; Past, Present, 
and Future, 1 ; Pictures of Life, 103 ; Poets 
and Versifiers, 201 ; Poetry, 20 ; Poetry of Life, 
193; Pleasures of Sleep, &c, 145; Sea-Shore, 
The, 81 ; Shrove-Tuesday, 51 ; Summer Ramble 
in Croydon, 84 ; Things beyond the Eye, 74 ; 
Thoughts suggested by the New Year, 3 ; Time 
and Chance, 262 ; Valentine's Day, 9 ; Wild- 
Flowers, 321; Winter, 13; Woman and Her 
Maker, 160; World we Live in, 129 

Evergreen Shrubs, 192 



Fine Arts, — Paintings by the Brothers Foggo, 

Fish, New Mode of Breeding, 278 
Fish, Their Powers of Vision, 320 
Flowers and Their Charms, 293 
Flowers, Relative Colors of, 249 
Fox, " Scent " of the, 123 
Fresh Air, 203, 250 
Frog, The, 29 

Gold Fish, 190 

Great Cormorant, The, 147 

Gutta Percha Manufactory, 353 

Happy Mouse, A, 190 

" Happy Families " in Cages, 154 

Hare, Notes on the, 31 

Hedgehog, The, 94 

Heliotrope, The, 318 

Hempseed, Use and Abuse of, 309 

Heron, The, 31 

Hening Gull, 93 

Hints to Amateur Gardeners, 39, 105, 174, 236, 

302, 368 
Hoar Frost, 19 

Honey Bees, 57, 164, 246, 250, 345 
Horse, The, 187 
Horsehair Gifted with Life, 125 
House Fly, The, 30 
Human Mouth, The, 77 
Human Stomach, The, 337 

Imagination, The Mighty Conjuror, 288 
India Pink, 191 
Indian Scenery, 204 
Insanity, 60, 223, 247 
Insects,— A Hint, 250, 251 

Ravages by, 126 

Cossus, Centra, Vinula, Ligniperda, 

Potatoria, &c, 192, 252, 253, 310, 

311, 374 
Larvae of, 32, 125, 126, 189 

Jackdaw, The, 185, 285, 313 

Kaffirs, Notes on the, 207 
Kew Gardens, 301 

Light, Indispensable for Plants, 275 

Lightning, Force of, 250 

Lincolnshire as We saw it, 99 

Linendrapers, — An Expose, 180 

Literary Paupers, 204 

London Milk and Cream, 374 

Long Faces — Should be handsomely paid for, 

Love for Birds, 187, 252 

Marine Polvpes, 28 
Marten, The, 184 
Marvels of Creation, 339 
Mesmerism as a Curative Power, 375 


Bouquet, The, 112; Chance, 192; Charity, 8; 
Cheerfulness, 240 ; Child and the Gossamer, 
244 ; Christian, A Real, 226 ; Chloroform ad- 
ministered to a Horse, 371 ; Contentment, 154 ; 
Cupid and the Revenue, 186; Dead Leaves, 

56 ; Diaries and Note-Books, 40 ; Depths of the 
Ocean, 124; Early Rising, 267, 311; Earth- 
quakes, 181 ; Effects of Study, 346 ; Eggs, 
How to Preserve, 303 ; Electric Cable, 122 ; 
Electricity applied to Plants, 310 ; Eloquence of 
Flowers, 367; Emigration, 65, 260; Energy 
and Victory, 350 ; England and Turkey, 82 ; 
English Beauty. 293 ; Epitaph on a Mouse, 311 ; 
Epitaphs, 124; E very-Day Life, 294; Example, 
263 ; Externals and Internals, 94 , Fidgets, 
The, 32 ; Fog, 191 ; Forest Trees of England, 
218 ; Forgiveness, 200 ; Genius, 348; Gentle Sex, 
The, 291 ; Good Company, 172 ; Good Nature, 
94 ; Goodness of Providence, 212, 373 ; Growth 
of Salmon, 372 ; Grief, 208 ; Happiness, 294 ; 
Heat Marks on a French-Polished Table, 319 ; 
Heraldic Figures, 127 ; Hints on Wooing, 214 ; 
Honest Trick, 46 ; How to get Introduced to 
" a Beautiful Family," 334 ; Hydrograph, The, 
319; Innocence, 112; Joy, 7; Keeping up 
Appearances, 294 ; Ladies, The, and their 
Ridiculous " Monster Petition," 192 ; Landslip 
in Ireland, 189 ; Laurel Bewitched, The, 59 ; 
Lesson to Parents, 58 : Life, 308 ; Life Assurance, 
245; Little Secret, A^ 256 : Loss of The " Vic- 
toria " Steamer, 185; "Love One Another," 
62 ; Love of Children, 320 : Love's Loveliness, 
338 ; Maids, Wives, and Mothers, 144; Morality 
in Manchester, and Gross Immorality in Glas- 
gow, 253 ; Morning Dew, 198 ; Moth, The, 310 ; 
Nature's Love-Knot, 300 ; Oak- Apples, 370 ; 
Paired, not Matched, 252 ; Plants Blossoming 
at Will, 370 ; Peculiarity of the Human Mind, 
264 ; Perpetual Youth, 134 ; Portraits, or 
" Daubs," of Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 248 ; Poetry of 
Simplicity, 224; Post-Office Statistics, 248; 
Pride, 297 ; Prosperity and Adversity, 141 ; 
Religion, 330, 343 ; Remembrance, 16 ; Re- 
sponsibility of Man, 364 ; Righteous Judgment, 
34 ; Road and the Rail, 249 ; Rose, The, 136 ; 
Roses and Rosebuds, 370 ; Sensibility, 367 ; 
Sincerity, 233 ; Singular Case of Poisoning, 
318 ; Smiles, 319 ; Snow and Steam, 330 ; Snow 
and Salt, 127 ; Social Conversation, 301 ; Song 
for May-Day, 249 ; Stephens's Cabinet of British 
Insects, 192 ; Subdivision of Time, 96 ; Sugar 
made from Maize, 189 ; Take care of your 
Eyes, 368 ; Thoughts on Borrowing, 176 ; 
Thoughts on Spring, 121; Toothache, 320; 
Trees Covered with Ivy, 372 ; True Happiness, 
84 ; True Love, 95, 160, 272 ; Value of a Thick 
Skull, 122; Virtue, 223; Vital Point, The, 322; 
Voice of the Skylark, 371 ; What is Logic ? 266; 
" Why and Because," 188 ; Wishes, 247; Wis- 
dom, Sign of, 362 ; Wood Engraving, 127 ; Wit 
and Genius, 308 

Mouse, Peculiarities of the Common, 231 

Mice, To Destroy, 124 

Mildness of the Season, 1852—53; 55 

Modern Education, Defects in, 330 

Mother and Child in Chili, 290 

Mount Etna in Winter, 332 

Mule, Sagacity of the, 292 

Mussel, Beard of the, 232 

"My Dog Knew It!" 333 

Naturalists, — Proper and Improper, 120, 184 
Naturalist-Clubs, 127 
Nature's Simplicity, 292 
Nightingale, The, 246 


VI 1 

Notes during aVisit to Hampshire, in June, 1853 ; 

344, 374 
Notes by a Naturalist, 72, 132, 194 
Notes by a Sportsman and Naturalist, 67, 150 
Nunneries, and other Vile Abominations, 318 
Nuthatch, The, 344 

Oak, The, 59 

The Moccas Park, 142 

The Gospel, 238 

Obituary : — Death of Mr. John Trueman, the 

Entomologist, 311 
Our Journal and the Public, 8, 117 
Our Native Flowers, 314 

Parasites, 97 

Parrots, 64 

Paternoster Bow — the Grave of Poor Authors, 

61, 117, 127 
Phrenology for the Million, 41, 43, 106, 168, 228, 

295, 360 
Pigeons, 122 
Pigeon Shows, 39, 111 
Pillar Roses, 188 
Piranha Fish, The, 256 


Bear and Forbear, 222 ; Beauty is Dead, 48 ; Bee 
Stings, To Cure, 317 ; Blessings of Peace, 176 ; 
Blind Boy, 128; Bride, The, 112 ; Brother, 
Come Home ! 128 ; Childhood, 329 ; Cuckoo, 
The, 131 ; Daisies, 203 ; Day-break, 280 ; 
Dear Ivy Leaves, 235 ; Domestic Lays, 47, 
111; Don't You Remember? 332 ; Early Vio- 
lets, 141 ; Echo, 202 ; England, Dear England ! 
96; English Girl, 112; Faded Rose, 310; 
Fare thee Well! 343; Field Flower, A, for 
"My Love," 348 ; First Day of Spring, 134 ; 
First Snowdrop, 132; For ever Thine, 14; 
Friendship an Evergreen, 293 ; Friends in 
Winter, 47 ; Give me back that Smile again, 
267; Gladness of Nature, 285; Gold Fish, 
Lines to, 220; Grant me thy Blessing, 112; 
Harp's, The,Wild Notes, 288 ; " Home, Sweet 
Home !" 344 ; Horrors of Pride, 333 ; If you 
love me, say so, 224 ; I Love the Spring, 200 ; 
I'll Think on Thee, 64, 96 ; Invocation to 
March, 87, 117 ; Invocation to the South Wind, 
346 ; Lavender, Sweet Lavender ! 128 ; Leaf, 
The, 165 ; Life's Sunny Side, 48 ; Lines to a 
Departed Child, 166 ; Love, for Love's Sake, 
151 ; Love, the Lamp of Life, 111 ; Love Let- 
ter, A, 336; May-Evening, 243; Memory, 
154 ; Midsummer Day, 277 ; Mother and her 
Boy, 264; My Russet Gown, 326; Necklace, 
The, 243 ; New Year's Day, 40 ; Old Thorn, 
The,208 ; One Toast More ! 174 ; Primroses, 64 ; 
Procrastination, 47 ; Skylark, To the, 137, 198, 
261 ; Song, The, of June, 320 ; Song of the Bees, 
325 ; Song of the Moonbeam, 96 ; Spare my 
Flower, 277 ; Spring and its Associations, 202 ; 
Such is Life! 272; Sudden Shower, 290; 
Sweet Repose, A, 350 ; Take Things as you find 
them, 48 ; Thrush's Ncst,The, 139 ; 'Tis aBeau- 
tiful World, 152, 323 ; 'Tis Sweet, 'Tis Sad ! 
339 ; Voice of Nature. 351 ; Wanderer's Re- 
turn, The, 330 ; Welcome, i Sweet May ! 206 ; 
What I Love, 276; What say the Flowers? 
128 ; Winter, 19, 78 

Popular Science : — Chappuis' Daylight Re- 
flector, 46 ; Hydro-Electric Chain, 45 ; Photo- 
graphic Pictures, 143, 251 ; Stereoscope, 45, 

Public Exhibitions : — Young's Soirees Magi- 
ques, 127 ; Woodin's Carpet Bag, 304 

Poultry, 35, 63, 109, 175, 190, 239, 245, 251, 303, 

Poultry Shows, 37, 63, 109 

Rabbits, 55, 375 

Rail-roads and Steam-Engines, 221 
Rat, Gluttony of a, 254 
Rat-Tat-Tat-Tat ! 133 

Review : — Agrostographia, 173 ; Memoirs of 

a Stomach, 337 
Robin, The, 59, 157, 163, 244, 318, 346 
Rooks, 54, 185, 255 
Rose Maggot, The, 313 

Sea Anemone, The, 186, 373 

Seasonable Curiosities, 340 

Seasonable Hints on Health, 79, 80, 158, 203, 

250, 277 
Shrike, The, 59 

Silk, New Mode of Coloring, 61, 183 
Siskin, The, 60 
Skeleton Leaves, 246 
Sky, Thoughts on the, 335 
Skylark, The, 58, 318, 371 

Plea for the, 213 

Sleep, Thoughts on, 277 

Sparrow, The, 181 

Spider, The, 33, 315 

Spirit-Rapping Impostors, The, 224, 288, 312, 

369, 372 
Starling, The, 243, 344 
Stays, Use and Abuse of, 79, 160 
Stowe, Mrs. H. B., and the Ladies of England, 

Strange Birds " Wintering " in Cornwall, 191 
Street Music and Maniacs, 223 
Swallow, The, 244, 245, 251, 279 

Table Moving, 288 

Talc, a Substitute for Glass, 183 


Dress-Cap, The 113 ; Harmony Run Mad, 205 ; 
Joys of a Cold Day, 118; Odd-Fellows, 177; 
Tit-for-Tat, or the Great Principle, 241 ; Wed- 
ding Parties, 305 ; Young Gipsy, 53 

Taming Animals, Art of, 58, 182, 256 

'Tis Twenty Years Since ! 268 

Thrush, The, 90, 216, 283 

Toad, The, 122 

Tortoise, The, 125, 183, 246 

Trees of Oregon, 247 

Triphoena Pronuba, 189 

Trout in New Zealand, 179, 247 

Uniformity of Nature, 20 

Van Diemen's Land, 75 
Vegetable Physiology, 324 
Venomous Fly of Southern Africa, 62 
Victoria Regia, 189 
Vulgar Festivities, 263 



Wag-tail, The, 91 

Woman, — a " Magic Lemon !" 254 

Wardian Cases, 182 

Women and their Parasols, 346 

Water, Value of, 250 

Wood-lark, The, 58, 371 

Wax Insect Tree, 363 

World, The Artificial, 254 

Weather Wisdom, 300 

Westminster Abbey, 211 

Yew Tree, The, 331 

White-bait, The, 231 

White Shark, The, 213 

Zollverein Bird Cages, 56 

Winds, The Prevailing, 270 

Zoological Folk-Lore, 222, 352 

Wine-Cork Insect, 60 

MIffflSIf, ESSE. 


Nature, — attend ! Join every living soul, 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky ! 
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
One general song ! . . . We cannot go 
Where Universal Love smiles not around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; 
From seeming evil still educing good, 
And better thence again, — and better still, 
In infinite progression ! . . . 
Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise! 


writing, the Old Year — 
one thousand, eight hun- 
dred, and fifty - two, is, 
though tempestuously ra- 
ging, fast declining. Ere 
the ink which is flowing 
in our pen shall be thoroughly dry, the old 
year will have sunk to his rest, and be known 
only as among the things that have been. 
Such is the whiter of life ! 

The year which has just closed upon us, 
has been one of the most eventful within our 
recollection. It will be for the historian of 
the year, to collect the extraordinary circum- 
stances that have occurred, both at home and 
abroad, within the past twelve months ; and 
to place them in array before us. We who 
know them, and have watched them narrowly 
in their progress, can meantime ruminate on 
the significance of their meaning, and turn 
them to a profitable account. It is a favor- 
ite axiom of ours, that nothing happens by 
chance ; and that everything that transpires 
is "right." 

Holding such a strange doctrine as this, 
it will be less a matter for surprise that we 
have yet other singular ideas. For instance, 
we cannot fall in with the usual custom of 
seeing the Old Year out, and the New Year 
in — amidst riot, noise, smoke, drink, and 
debauchery. Let the wassail bowl have its 
votaries, the bottle its unflinching compa- 
nions — but let us have an equally free choice. 
The results of intoxication have already met 
our eye. Men have been transformed into 
beasts, whilst Nature was kindly preparing 
to set before them the glories of a New Year ! 
Ribald jests, profanity, and obscenity, have 
rent the air — at a season when every voice 

should be filled with love for the Maker of 
Heaven and Earth ! Alas ! how little the 
regard paid to either body or soul, when 
feasting and excess are considered the main 
points of a good life I But let us change the 

The seasons of the year are the topics 
which most concern us and our readers at 
this time. It will be remembered, that the 
Winter of 1851-2 was a remarkable one, — 
all sorts of changes prevailing on one and 
the same day. It was sometimes cold, some- 
times warm; sometimes frosty, and some- 
times wet, — all within twenty-four hours. 
The consequence was, — perpetual illness, 
almost universal sickness, and a great in- 
crease in the Bills of Mortality. Spring and 
Winter seemed to have formed a coalition. 
They were hardly discernible the one from 
the other. The whole of the first half-year, 
as a perusal of our Journal will testify, 
was unseasonable in every respect. We 
were deluged with rain ; and all of us worn 
out with the . pains and sufferings insepa- 
rable from such long-continued damp and 

Suddenly, Summer broke in upon us. And 
what a Summer! We rose at once from 
zero to boiling heat. We were all but fried 
as we walked along the streets. This con- 
tinued for a goodly time. Our gardens soon 
felt the influence, and we found ourselves 
planted on every hand in a perfect paradise 
of flowers. The joys of this season we shall 
never forget ; neither those connected with 
the commencement of Autumn. Our pen 
has already been eloquent on the subject, and 
our thoughts will be found registered in the 
leaves of our Journal. 

Of the concluding portion of Autumn, and 
of the commencement of Winter, we would 
fain be silent. We had such a constant suc- 
cession of wet days, and wet nights — such 
storms, and such elemental discord, that we 
would indeed forget the remembrance of them. 
Many who were in the enjoyment of perfectly 
robust health in the Summer, were, ere the 
close of Autumn, consigned to their last rest- 
ing place. Many, with whom we held much 
pleasing gossip upon bright future prospects 
during the past summer, have long since been 

Vol. III. — i. 


numbered with the dead. They sleep, — to 
meet us again in this world no more. 

It is impossible to regard these things, as 
too many do, as mere matters of course. 
Old Time is stealing a march upon us. and 
we find our turn approaching. We know 
not how soon ! This increases our desire, 
and our ardent longing, to be " useful" in 
our day and generation ; and we will not 
deny that we feel some little pride in know- 
ing that many feel interested in the exten- 
sion of our life. Long ere Christmas, our 
earthly career was apparently at an end. Our 
sand, it was imagined, had nearly run out. 
Our life hung on doubt, for many days. We 
had prepared for the great change. 

The wise Dispenser of events, however, 
caused hope to spring up. In the hands of 
a skilful practitioner we rallied. We con- 
tended vigorously against the invasion of our 
internal enemy ; and, being a man of the 
most temperate habits, we finally vanquished 
him. For our victory, let us thank the God 
of all our mercies. We do so, most devoutly; 
the more especially, as many who were at 
the same time with ourself suffering from 
a precisely similar malady (but who were 
not men of temperate habits), sank under 
their sufferings. Another forcible argument 
this, for our favorite motto — Temperance in 
all things. 

We have taken occasion, in former num- 
bers of our Journal, to commend to our 
readers' especial notice the due observance 
of Christmas, — a season when all families 
and their various branches should make a 
point of assembling together, to cement the 
bond of love. Nature, no doubt, rejoices as 
much as we do in the various reunions that 
take place at such a time. Many ill-feelings 
have perhaps been suffered to exist, between 
many parties, for many months previous to 
this grand meeting. A kiss of love at once 
annihilates the remembrance of these. Fresh 
vows are exchanged ; future meetings plan- 
ned ; many sweet promises of communicating 
more frequently are given ; and so the New 
Year dawns auspiciously on all. We repeat, 
that we look upon the season of Christmas, 
with its holly, misseltoe, and other commen- 
dable associations, with fond delight. Nor 
have we been wanting this season in per- 
forming our part in what we so strongly 
recommend to others. We feel individually 
all the better for it ; and we will undertake 
to say as much for the possessors of the 
many happy, cheerful, loving, and lovely 
countenances, with which ours has inno- 
cently come in contact. 

Well ; we will not now dilate upon these 
matters ; though we feel justified in hinting 
at them, and in gently enforcing their obser- 
vance. Let us turn to the New Year. 

It is a wise provision of Nature, to make 

certain little breaks in the routine of our too 
regular life. She introduces a succession of 
pleasing changes, to keep our minds in cqui- 
librio. From to-day, we shall live in the 
hope and pleasing expectation of seeing a 
daily change in the aspect of our fields and 
gardens. Hitherto stationary, there will be 
a progressive movement in vegetation. 
Though the year is young, there is already 
much to delight us ; for the season, having 
been unusually mild, many pretty little heads 
are modestly popping up, even now, to greet 
us as we pass from place to place. 

We must not forget, too, that the days are 
gradually lengthening ; and that the dear, 
bright, and glorious sun has commenced his 
new annual course. Feeble though his rays 
at the beginning of the month, yet is his 
enlivening countenance shining upon us 
brighter and brighter every day. Still, 
Winter is upon us, and we must, for a little 
season, amuse ourselves indoors as well as out ; 
for the voices of the birds are not yet fully 
heard, their "harps are hung upon the wil- 
lows." It is a painful sight to see how some 
of our tiny friends are benumbed with the 
cold ; but it is more than compensated by 
the pleasure we feel in welcoming them to 
the hospitality of our table. The wrens, the 
robins, " Dickey Dunnock," and the blue- 
headed titmouse, flock around us on every 
side ; and many a grateful song do we get, 
by the way, in return for a few crumbs of 
bread thrown out of the window. 

January, in its early days, is a cold, wet, 
drizzly, unsatisfactory month — a month of 
colds and asthma, rheumatism and lumbago. 
All nature partakes of its blighting influ- 
ence. Still it comes with its awakening hand, 
and shakes grey-bearded old Winter in his 
chilly sleep :— 

A wrinkled, crabbed man, they picture tliee, 
Old Winter; with a rugged beard, as grey 
As the long moss upon the apple tree. 
Blue-lfpt, an ice-drop at thy sharp blue nose ; 
Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way 
Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows. 

Rude, too, and violent, is the awakening 
hand of January, causing the very icicles 
which bind old Winter down, to rattle again, 
whilst breathing into his frozen ear tidings 
that each successive day is longer than the 
last ; and bidding him prepare to abdicate in 
favor of the tender, delicate snowdrops, 
whose graceful heads are even now visible as 
they exert their growing energies to make 
their way through the frost-bound earth : — 
Nature ! great parent ! whose unceasing hand 
Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year, 
How mighty, how majestic, arc thy works ! 
With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul 
That sees astonished ! and astonished sings ! 

How wearisomely would the year pass away, 
but for these changes ! How would life hang 


heavily on our hands, were it not for the 
opening and shutting of the days, the advent 
and departure of flowers, the arrival and dis- 
appearance of birds, the infinitely-numerous 
races of insects, the wan coldness of winter, 
and the ruddy warmth of summer — all hn • 
parting to the year forms which correspond 
to our own changing existence. 

We have lately taken several strolls among 
the lanes and bye-roads, with a view to re- 
connoitre the doings, and try to catch the 
voices, of the early birds of song ; but alas ! 
save the musical wren, the robin, and the 
hedge-sparrow, all has been desolation. The 
fields look cold and comfortless, the trees 
naked, and the hedges bare. A skylark now 
and then has risen on the wing, and given 
utterance to his short, winter note ; a thrush 
and a blackbird, too, have been heard whist- 
ling low ; but no joyous effusions of vernal 
melody. All this has yet to come, and it is 
worth waiting patiently for. 

The notes of birds evidently undergo some 
extraordinary changes during the autumn 
and the winter ; for we find them making 
many vain attempts to sing in January, with- 
out having the power to exercise their full 
compass. The difficulty of utterance appears 
to arise from some physical impediment ; 
and this impediment is only gradually re- 
moved. Jenyns corroborates these obser- 
vations ; for he remarks that as the tempe- 
rature increases, their system receives a 
corresponding stimulus, their song becomes 
more melodious, and also much louder. If 
our readers will test this by noticing the 
movements of the various tribes, they will 
not find it an unprofitable occupation. 

We will not close these few remarks on 
the New Year, without directing attention 
to the necessity there is for all who would be 
well, to take exercise in the open air. It is a 
too common practice at this season, for peo- 
ple, young and old, to crowd over a large 
fire — half baking themselves on one side, 
whilst the other is unduly cold. This inva- 
riably produces illness. Let the apartment 
in which you live be well ventilated, and let 
a moderate fire be kept in the stove. Sit at 
a fair distance from it, and you will obtain an 
equable warmth. But ere you do this, take 
a nice bracing walk, if the day be dry. This 
will cause a due circulation of the blood, and 
keep you healthily warm. On your return 
home, your cheeks will glow with a ruddy 
tint, your appetite will be good, and your 
digestion equally so. All that is needful to 
guard against cold, is — a proper equipment. 

Take no heed, young ladies, of being cele • 
brated for a pretty foot, or a neat ankle ; 
especially during the season of winter. Pro- 
vide good, strong boots, with moderately- 
thick soles, so as to exclude water and damp. 
Put these on whenever you walk abroad, 

and you will thank us for our advice long 
before they are half worn out. Warm gloves, 
(no muff), a neat little cloak, and a warm 
winter's dress, will, with the addition of a 
little "comfortable" bonnet, put you in march- 
ing order. Never miss a single day's exer- 
cise in the open air ; unless indeed the ground 
be saturated with rain. You cannot imagine 
.the benefits arising from walking out, during 
the winter months. You shall do so, however, 
ere we have kept your company long. 

We shall take upon ourself, month after 
month, to study your welfare ; and we shall 
not hesitate to tell you all that we conceive 
to be for your benefit. " Line upon line, 
precept upon precept," shall be lovingly 
offered ; and we feel sure that we shall win 
our way to your favor, while laboring so 
earnestly for your good. 

We speak now, more particularly, to our 
new Subscribers. There are many who are 
as yet strangers to us, and to our doctrines. 
Only let them listen to what we say, and let 
them be better acquainted with us, and we 
venture our reputation that we shall all 
speedily become a " United Happy Family." 

We begin the New Year with buoyant 
spirits. Nature's treasury is about to be 
opened. We shall be there at the opening ; 
and whilst we expose to view all her lady- 
ship's boundless gifts to her children, as they 
present themselves, we feel sure that there 
will be but one feeling between us and our 
readers, — Love to God, and good-will to 


This is our fondest desire, — our earnest 


It is a melancholy task, Mr. Editor, to reckon 
with the departed year. To trace back the 
curious threads of affection through its many- 
colored woof, and knot anew its broken places — to 
number the missing objects of interest, the dead 
and the neglected — to sum up the broken reso- 
lutions, the deferred hopes, the dissolved phan- 
toms of anticipation, and many wanderings from 
the leading star of duty — this is, indeed, a melan- 
choly task, but, withal, a profitable, and, it may 
sometimes be, a pleasant and a soothing one. 

It is wonderful in what short courses the objects 
of this world move. They are like arrows 
feebly shot. A year, a brief year, is full of 
things dwindled, and finished, and forgotten. 
Nothing keeps evenly on. What is there in the 
running calendar of the year that has departed, 
which has kept its place and its magnitude? 
Here and there an aspirant for fame still stretches 
after his eluding shadow — here and there an 
enthusiast still clings to his golden dream — here 
and there (and alas ! how rarely a friend keeps 
his truth, and a lover his fervor — but how many 
more, that were as J ambitious, as enthusiastic, as 
loving as these when last year began, are now 
sluggish, and cold, and false ! You may keep a 



record of life ; and as surely as it is human, it 
will be a fragmented and disjointed history, 
crowded with unaccountableness and change. 
There is nothing constant. The links of life are 
for ever breaking, but we rush on still. A fellow- 
traveller drops from our side into the grave — a 
guiding star of hope vanishes from the sky — a 
creature of our affections, a child or an idol, is 
snatched from us — perhaps nothing with which | 
we began the race is left to us, and yet we do not , 
halt. * Onward — still onward,' is the eternal cry ; i 
and as the past recedes, the broken ties are for- 
gotten, and the future occupy us alone. 

There are bright chapters in the past, however. 
If our lot is capricious and broken, it is also new 
and various. One friend has grown cool, but we 
have won another. One chance was less fortu- 
nate than we expected, but another was better. 
We have encountered one man's prejudices, but, 
in so doing, we have unexpectedly flattered the 
partialities of his neighbor. We have neglected 
a recorded duty; but a deed of charity, done upon 
impulse, has brought up the balance. In an 
equable temper of mind, memory, to a man of 
ordinary goodness of heart, is pleasant company. 
A careless rhymer, whose heart is better than his 
head, says, — 

" I would not escape from Memory's land, 

For all the eye can view ; 
For there's dearer dust in Memory's land, 

Than the ore of rich Peru. 
I clasp the fetter by Memory twined, 
The wanderer's heart and soul to bind." 

It was a good thought suggested by an In- 
genious friend, to make one's will annually, and 
remember all whom we love in it in the degree 
of their dcservings. I have acted upon the hint 
since, and truly it is keeping a calendar of one's 
life. I have little to bequeath, indeed — a manu- 
script or two, some half dozen pictures, and a 
score or two of much-thumbed and choice 
authors — but, slight as these poor mementoes 
are, it is pleasant to rate their difference, and 
write against them the names of our friends as 
we should wish them left if we .knew we were 
presently to die. It would be a satisfying thought 
in sickness, that one's friends would have a me- 
morial to suggest us when we were gone — that 
they would know we Avishcd to be remembered by 
them ; that we remembered them among the first. 
And it is pleasant, too, while alive, to change 
the order of appropriation with the ever-varying 
evidences of affection. It is a relief to vexation 
and mortiiied pride, to erase the name of one un- 
worthy or false ; and it is delightful, as another 
gets nearer to your heart, with the gradual and 
sure test of intimacy, to prefer him in your secret 

If I should live to be old, I doubt not it will 
be a pleasant thing to look over these little testa- 
ments. It is difficult, now, with their kind 
offices and pleasant faces ever about one, to realise 
the changes of feeling between the first and the 
Lasl — more difficult still, to imagine against any of 
those familiar names the significant asterisk that 
marks the dead; yet if the common chances of 
human truth, and the still more desperate chances 
of human life, continue, it is melancholy to think 
what a miracle it would be if even half this list, 

brief and youthful as it is, should be, twenty 
years hence, living and unchanged. 

The festivities of this part of the year always 
seemed to me mis-timed and revolting. I know 
not what color the reflections of others take, but 
to me it is simply the feeling of escape — the re- 
leased breath of fear after a period of suspense and 
danger. Accident, misery, death, have been about 
us in their invisible shapes ; and while one is tor- 
tured with pain, and another reduced to wretch- 
edness, and another struck into the grave beside 
us, we know not why nor how we are still living 
and prosperous. It is next to a miracle that we 
are so. We have been on the edge of chasms 
continually. Our feet have tottered, our bosoms 
have been grazed by the thick shafts of disease — 
had our eyes been spirit-keen, we should have been 
dumb with fear at our peril. If every tenth sun- 
beam were a deadly arrow — if the earth were full 
of invisible abysses — if poisons were sown thickly 
in the air, life would hardly be more insecure. We 
can stand upon our threshold and sec it. The vigor- 
ous are stricken down by an invisible hand — the 
active and busy suddenly disappear — death is 
caught up in the breath of the night wind, in the 
dropping of the dew. There is no place or mo- 
ment, in which that horrible phantom is not glid- 
ing among us. It is natural at each period of es- 
cape to rejoice fervently and from the heart ; but 
I know not, if others look upon death with the 
same irrepressible horror that I do, how their joy 
can be so thoughtlessly trifling. It seems to me 
matter for deep and almost fearful congratulation. 
It should be expressed in religious places and with 
the solemn voice of worship ; and when the period 
has thus been marked, it should be speedily for- 
gotten, lest its clouds become more depressing. I 
am an advocate for all the gaiety that the spirits 
will bear. I would reserve no particle of the trea- 
sure of happiness. The world is dull enough at 
the best ; but do not mistake its temper. 
Do not press into the service of gay pleasure 
the thrilling solemnities of life. I think any- 
thing which reminds mo of death, solemn ; 
any time, when our esoape from it is thrust irre- 
sistibly upon the mind, a solemn time ; and such 
is the season of -the new year. It should be occu- 
pied by serious thoughts. It is the time to reckon 
with one's heart — to renew and form resolutions — 
to forgive, and reconcile, and redeem. — P. 


Goodness thinks no ill where no ill seems. 


Albeit use is second nature, yet does it 
require some little time to get out of an old 
beaten track — more particularly if memory 
dwells fondly upon beloved objects, met with 
in that track. 

Our wonted habit of gossipping weekly 
with our readers, was a source of inexpres- 
sible pleasure to us. We could tell of a 
multitude of things passing at the time, and 
find ready listeners to share our joys and 
delights. They looked as anxiously for our 
weekly gossip, as we felt pleasure in pre- 
paring it for their eye. It w T as vexatious 


that the proposed and needful change took 
place at Christmas.* We had so much to 
prattle about at this season — so much of 
the interesting to communicate in the matter 
of social reunions, and the annual renewals of 
those affectionate feelings of love and friend- 
ship which do such honor and service to 
humanity. Well is it for us, that " Fashion" — 
the universal tyrant, has not swept away this 
annual custom of meeting together, as well 
as so many other of the wholesome ob- 
servances of life ! 

There is a great deal of rust contracted on 
the human heart, in the course of a single 
year — aye,in the course of a few short months. 
Absence very often produces a cruel coldness 
amongst those who ought to be the best of 
friends ; and this coldness of feeling too often 
grows into something worse than indifference. 
Then, people will get fancying all sorts of 
silly things ; nor does ill-nature slumber 
under such circumstances. Many a sly hint 
will be thrown out by a venomous tongue, 
interested in spreading dissension, that will 
keep the choicest of friends at variance. 
However, " Time-works wonders." The 
season for friendly meetings again comes 
round. Invitations are given and accepted. 
Old acquaintances meet ; the hand is offered 
and taken — aye, shaken too ! Doubts are 
cleared up ; the heart expands under Nature's 
warmth, and all are ; ' happy" — as they should 
be. Nature ! how we love thee ! 

Well ; all that we have been talking about 
has already taken place. Friends have em- 
braced, laughed, danced, sung, played, and 
made merry. Youth and age have melted 
into one. The follies of fashion have, among 
the sensible, dwindled away ; and Nature has 
reigned triumphant amongst her children. 
Thus has the New Year come in, radiant 
with smiles. The glorious sun heralded in 
the 1st of January, 1853. We saw his face 
with delight. It was but a glimpse, truly ; 
but that glimpse shadowed forth a host of 
" promises " now in course of daily fulfil- 

Now let us improve these few opening ob - 
servations on the season. Let each one of 
us boldly ask himself — if his heart does not 
feel all the lighter for the share he has taken 
in promoting the happiness of others ? And 
the beauty of it is, the pleasure of pleasing 

* We have before mentioned ( see our Second 
Volume, passim), "why" we have been con- 
strained to convert Our Journal into a Monthly 
Periodical. The booksellers refused to procure it 
in its iveelchj form ; and the complaints we re- 
ceived from all parts of the country in conse- 
quence, have left us no alternative. The tender 
mercies of a bookseller are indeed cruel ! Their 
community stand unenviably " alone " in their 
feelings of envy and hard-heartedness. 

far exceeds any other pleasure. It leaves a 
goodly savor behind it. Selfishness must not, 
cannot intrude at such seasons. Beholding 
our friends happy, their hearts' warm, their 
countenances radiant with delight ; and 
whilst listening to the joyous sounds of 
merriment proceeding from their innocent 
children — we behold a sight, and hear sounds, 
which we cannot but rejoice in. May the 
time never arrive that shall see us differently 
minded ! 

Whilst very many thousands have been so 
enjoying themselves, it will hardly be ima- 
gined that we have stood out. Oh no ! 
Familiarly and pleasingly known as " Our 
Editor," we have dropped in here, there, 
everywhere — a welcome, privileged friend. 
We were an invalid too ; and, on that account, 
the more " interesting ! " 

Christmas Day was, of course, our " first 
appearance this season." On that happy 
day we were enrolled — Self & Co. — among 
the members of a numerous " happy family.'' 
We passed the day as it ought to be passed — 
in amity, friendship, love, and unity. We 
never tell tales ; but we may relate, in cc n- 
fidence, that the " good old customs " were 
rigidly and properly kept up. One arch 
face — we will not say how many more arch 
faces followed the good example — slyly 
drawing us beneath 

" The blossom that hangs on the bough," 

playfully remarked, — " Our Editor, being 
invisible,* is nobody !" The arch face, with 
a pretty mouth, then whispered something— 
oh, how sweet ! — in our ear ; and as we sighed 
out, — " Take heed, — whisper low ! " the 
lisp died softly away in the distance. 
" Sweet seventeen ! " ( — aye, and " Sweet 
twenty-one !") how we love thee ! Long 
may innocence like thine live to greet us 
annually ; long may we live to go through 
the same pleasing ceremonies of the season 
with thee ! So treated, we will remain " no- 
body" all our life. We never can grow " old." 

We have, no doubt, here touched a chord 
that will awaken in other breasts besides 
ours, many a pleasing reminiscence of Christ- 
mas 1852-3. 

We are all children at such times, and 
ought to be so. It is Nature's gentle law, 
and must be obeyed. Thus do our minds 
become unbent, our best feelings expanded ; 
and thus are all the avenues opened which 
lead to kind, friendly, and affectionate so- 
licitude, one for the other. 

Prudery must never dare show her ugly 
deformed features at holiday times. No ! 
No ! We will have none of her detestable 

* Hereby hangs a curious tale. Our invisible 
cloak, and its mysterious properties, will be found 
duly chronicled in our first volume, page 104. 


heresies introduced amongst Nature's children. 
Her ladyship claims to rule, in her own sweet 
way, once a year at least ; and insists in 
putting us in the right way, whether we 
continue to walk in it or not. She hates the 
superficial and the artificial as much as we 
do. Oh that we could, between us, banish 
them for ever ! 

The curtain must here fall. Papas and 
mammas, boys and girls, young and old, 
grave and gay — all have met to keep Nature's 
holiday, and to rejoice together in love. 
Sight-seeing is at an end. The vacation is 
nearly over. The last boy is now " due" at 
school. Whilst we write, " Black Monday" 
is frowning on our young friends, and duty 
is beckoning them away from pleasure. 

Well ; they have had their treat, and must 
now away to improve their minds. We will, 
in their absence, try and prepare something 
to "assist" in this, against their return. The 
seasons will soon roll over ; then will they 
again assemble to give a loose to the dictates 
of honest Nature. 

May God bless our rising youth ! say we ; 
and as we grow older, may we contrive — if 
possible, to grow more natural ! 


The following graphic sketch appears in 
the " Boston Transcript." There is a vein 
of feeling in it, which we wish to impress 
upon the mind of every reader. How little 
do we value our gifts, until by comparison 
we are brought to reflection ! 

A few days since, says Dr. C, the narrator, 
I paid a visit, by invitation, with a friend, to 
the " Blind Institution" at South Boston, 
where I had an opportunity of seeing Laura 
Bridgman. Although much has been written 
about this interesting young lady, yet I am 
inclined to believe that her actual condition 
is not generally well understood. The Blind 
Institution has long been established, and is 
now under the superintendence of Dr. Howe, 
a man whose intelligence and humanity ad- 
mirably fit him for the situation. 

Laura is blind, deaf, and dumb. She can 
neither hear, see, nor speak ! I had somehow 
formed an opinion that she was a little girl, 
but I learned that she was 22 years of age, 
although she appeared not above 16 or 18. 
Her features are regular — an oval face, 
with a very pleasing expression of counte- 
nance. Her head is what phrenologists 
would call "finely balanced " — the moral and 
intellectual predominating. Her demeanor 
was lady-like, and attractive. One would 
not suppose she ever entertained a thought 
of sadness, from her appearance. 

The mode of communicating intelligence 
to her, is entirely different from that of any 
other human being — she being the only per- 

son living who is at once blind, deaf, and 
dumb. The deaf and dumb can learn by 
seeing ; and the blind by hearing, — but Laura 
can learn in no such way. She can only learn 
by the sense of touch alone ! Strange as it may 
appear, she has been taught not only to con- 
verse freely, but to write. This has been 
accomplished by the sense of touch alone. 
How did she learn her letters? How was the 
first idea communicated to her? As we 
entered the room, she was in earnest conver- 
sation with her blind companion. The blind 
girl could hear our approach, but Laura lite- 
rally "turned a deaf ear" to us. 

While viewing the two, we almost envied 
the condition of the blind girl, in contrast 
with the night of night in which poor Laura 
was encompassed. Laura could speak to 
others by the motion of her fingers, like the 
deaf and dumb spelling out every word. But 
while she could speak to others in this way, 
no one by similar motions could speak to 
her. She could not see the motion of their 
hands. In speaking to her, the motion of 
the fingers had to be made inside of her 
hand. She could then understand their mean • 
ing. Laura and the blind girl both conversed 
in this way. On the desk, before Laura, lay 
a piece of grooved tin, with a slip of paper. I 
asked if she would write her name for me ; 
as I should prize it as a choice memento. 

She complied cheerfully, after learning the 
request through her teacher. She placed 
the paper on the grooved tin, measuring the 
distance from the side ; and wrote in plain 
round letters — " Laura Bridgman to Dr. 
C." She guided her pencil with the left hand, 
in the grooves of the tin. 

Poor Laura ! Heaven grant that the dark- 
ness which now surrounds you, may end in 
this life ! There is a kind Providence,whose 
care is over even the most obscure creature, 
and in time will compensate and rectify all 
wrongs. There is no blindness or deafness 
in Heaven. " There the eyes of the blind 
shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf un- 
stopped." On leaving the Blind Institution, 
I trust I had a more truthful sense of the 
blessings of sight and hearing, and of the 
corresponding obligations they impose. 
Laura Bridgman is considered by those who 
know her condition and her attainments, as 
the highest object of interest in the world. 
Let those who indulge in complaints at the 
disappointments and disadvantages they 
suffer in life, only think of Laura Bridg- 
man ! 

The Neav Year. — Every first of January 
that we arrive at, is an imaginary milestone in 
the track of human life ; at once a resting-place 
for thought and meditation, and a starting point 
for fresh exertions in the performance of our 



As welcome as sunshine 

In ever 5 r place, 
Is the beaming approach. 

Of a good-natur'd face. 

As genial as sunshine, 
Like warmth to impart, 

Is a good-natur'd deed 
From a good-natur'd heart. 

Under the heading of " Little Kind- 
nesses," v/e ventured a few seasonable remarks 
at the close of our last year's volume. Little 
did we imagine, whilst penning those remarks, 
that so many of our readers were in the pos- 
session of our thoughts, and that we shared 
those thoughts in common ! Sympathy is 
indeed indescribable, — in its fountain and in 
its streams. 

We are under obligations innumerable, — 
albeit they are pleasing obligations, to the 
many kind individuals who have not let the 
season of Christmas pass by without assisting, 
most liberally, in the decoration of our table; 
and in substantially providing us with regal 
fare to keep up the prevailing festivities with 
all due honor. 

From all parts of the country, testimonials 
of gratitude for little services professionally 
rendered by us, have flowed in like a river. 
We name this under a general head, in order 
that one tribute of thankful acknowledgment 
may be accorded to all. We never could 
make a speech " under such circumstances ;" 
and we shall most assuredly not attempt to 
do so now. 

Among the assembled offerings was " one," 
most delicately conveyed. It reached us 
just before Christmas. It was franked 
throughout, and forwarded anonymously. On 
a sheet of paper, in a most loveable hand- 
writing, were penned these words: — " For the 
Editor. From a grateful friend — wishing 
the Editor and his family a merry Christmas 
and a happy New Year." The" present" was 
a noble, snow-white bird, sacred to Christmas, 
weighing some eighteen pounds. A neat 
label notified that it had ceased to live, three 
days previously ; and a ticket showed that it 
had travelled on the Southampton Railway. 
This offering of gratitude delighted us. The 
bird was not packed in the usual way. It 
had evidently occupied some little time in 
its preparation. It was placed (so neatly !) 
in a rush basket ; and the sewing, it needed 
no prophet to tell us, was leisurely performed 
by a little hand which felt a secret pleasure 
every time the needle was inserted and with- 
drawn. We repeat we know not the donor ; 
but we rejoice in feeling that we are remem- 
bered by "one," with whom time, perhaps, 
will make us better acquainted. A tribute 
thus paid can never be forgotten, — it were 

We were becoming melancholy at the 

close of the year, — despairing, perhaps, lest, 
after all, our enterprise should fall to the 
ground. When, however, we found ourself 
such a general object of regard, and ex- 
perienced such overwhelming and convincing 
proofs that our Journal had so won its 
way to favor, — creeping into the very hearts 
of our readers, we took fresh courage, and 
feel at the present time that there are those 
interested in our success who will never 
slumber nor sleep till we are placed beyond 
the reach of danger. 

We have labored hard — very hard, to 
create a brotherly and a sisterly feeling 
among mankind generally. It has indeed 
been up-hill work ! Our three-halfpenny 
readers positively derided us for our senti- 
ments, and with drew from our standard. It 
was "natural," perhaps — yet rather unkind. 
But let it pass. 

Our present body guard are of a very 
different order. They tell us, frankly, they 
could not expect us to write, nor could they 
be satisfied to read anything we had written, 
unless they knew that we were, at all events, 
protected from actual loss. This is manly, 
fair, and just. We love such sentiments. 

The year 1852 has not passed without 
affording us many opportunities for noticing 
how much real good may be effected by 
kindness, — and that, in a multitude of little 
ways. The hollo wness of " the world we live 
in," deadens those latent feelings that only 
want a fitting occasion to show themselves ; and 
people, naturally kind, loving, and sociable, are 
by circumstances rendered too often callous, 
indifferent, and morose. They find no echo to 
their own sentiments, become misanthropical, 
and turn their backs upon society with 
disgust. These are the people after whom 
we seek. We have picked up many of them 
already, and they have become polished j ewels. 
More, — many more, we trust, are yet to be 
found. Our pen shall search them out. 

Kindness begets kindness, and sincerity of 
heart creates love. Love, when once born, 
never dies. We have set ourselves a task to 
prove this. We will prove it, if we live. 


He who, to the best of his power, has secured 
the final stake, has a fons perennis (a perpetual 
fount) of joy within him. He is satisfied from 
himself. They, his reverse, borrow all from 

Joy, wholly from without, is false, precarious, 
and short. From without, it may be gathered ; 
but, like gathered flowers, though fair and sweet 
for a season, it must soon wither and become 

Joy, from within, is like smelling the rose on 
the tree. It is more sweet and fair. It is lasting ; 
and I must add, it is immortal. 




"When thou hast done a good deed, do not show 
It with thy finger, neither let it he 
Profaned : else it will come hack unto thee 
Like to a handled flower, where the glow 
Of hue and sweetness of the perfume no 
More dwells. Upon God's altar, with all the 
First freshness on it, place it ; and then he 
Will make its perfume everlasting, so 
'Twill be a joy for aye. There are hut two 
To whom it matters that thy deeds he known — 
God and thyself. And if to these alone 
They be so, then rejoice thereat ; for you 
Thus know them to be good deeds, in the true 
And sublime sense — true, like thy father's own ! 


"tftnr SnoBl" ni ij]B fnMiL 


since we put forth a Prospectus of the 
nature and objects of this Paper, it may be 
as well, for the benefit of new readers, briefly 
to re-state them. 

Let it be borne in mind then, imprimis, 
that OUR Journal is a Journal of Nature. 
We avowedly eschew all that is artificial ; 
we lay bare the wretched hypocrisy that so 
universally prevails in society ; and we call 
all things by their proper names. We regard 
life, not as a mere puppet to be played with 
as -we will, but as a " reality" — involving 
considerations of the deepest interest here 
and hereafter. Thus viewed, it possesses a 
new interest altogether. 

We are a grovelling nation, for the most 
part. Our lives are sacrificed in the vain 
pursuit of wealth. It is the only God that 
we " worship." When we get it, it hardens 
our heart ; and whilst we seek it, we neglect 
most of the kind offices of life. "In the 
midst of life we are in death," and know it 
not. Neither care we for it. Here is a 
daguerreotyped picture of humanity ! True 
to the letter, nevertheless. Well might 
Wordsworth say : — 

The world is too much with us ! Late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers. 
Little we see in Nature that is ours, — 
We have giv'n our hearts away, a sordid boon 1 

Whatever progress we may make in the 
mechanical arts, it is quite clear that, in 
these matters, we remain totally unchanged. 
Nay, we retrograde. Let us reform this 
altogether ! 

We seek to unite, and make of one mind, 
all who have hitherto prided themselves on 
rigid exclusiveness. We want to establish 
the fact, that we are, or rather ought to be, 
to a certain extent, all of one family, — con- 
nected by one object ; and that object, love to 
God and to each other. We . labor hard to 
make people what they " seem to be," but 

are not ; to show them that happiness does 
not consist in selfishness ; and that true charity, 
if sought after, can readily be found. W e 
want to crush false pride wherever it inhabits, 
and to cement a bond of brotherly and sisterly 
love between those who now see no beauty 
in such a union. We want to establish 
common honesty among us ; a reign of 
kindness instead of a reign of terror. We 
desire to do away with a mass of the cool 
calculation that now exists amongst us as to 
" what we can get" by doing offices of so- 
called kindness. In fact, we want to re- 
generate the human heart. 

Should it be urged that this is an im- 
possibility, — we admit that it is so, to a 
certain extent. Yet have we evidence in 
our possession, that we have not labored in 
vain touching this matter. For twelve 
months has our pen been unceasingly occu- 
pied in the endeavor to accompli-h what 
we now profess to be our aim. During that 
period, our correspondence from all parts of 
the world has been immense, — more par- 
ticularly during the latter quarter of the 
past year. 

Among this correspondence are letters, 
whose value we can never sufficiently ap- 
preciate. Entering fully into our views, and 
fathoming our heart, the writers of these 
letters have not hesitated to tell us the large 
amount of good we have already done, in 
certain quarters ; and they urge us to per- 
severe with increased energy in " the noble 
work we have undertaken." This it is that 
has kept us so unflinchingly to our self-im- 
posed task ; and that has induced us not to 
give up all as lost, without a further effort. 

We have found out, that there is many a 
heart seeking, — aye, pining, for feelings in 
unison with its own ; but which, for lack of 
opportunity, it has never been able to fall in 
with. These hearts — not a few, have sought 
and found a resting place, a harbour of 
refuge, in our heart. There they have lived — 
do live, and will live, whilst we are an in- 
habitant of this lower w T orld. This is one of 
the " rewards" we claim for our labor of 

The other main objects of our Journal 
are — harmless amusement, blended with solid 
popular instruction; and an inter-communi- 
cation of ideas between ourselves and the 
Public, connected with Natural History and 
matters of every-day life. 

This renders our Miscellany an amusing 
one for the time being ; and stamps a lasting 
value on it as a work of reference on Natural 
History, and Things in General. 

Our two First Volumes are still in print ; 
and we are well contented to let them speak 
for us in the absence of a longer prospectus. 
" Deeds, not words," is our motto ; and it is 
one which is now very generally received. 



Soon as grey morn invests yon eastern hill, 
What perturbations youthful bosoms fill ! 
"What throbs ! what strange anxieties are known — 
While "doubt" remains where Lovk shall fix hia 
throne I 

It seems but as yesterday, that we sat 
down to pen a few random thoughts on this 
most interesting day ; and yet have very 
nearly twelve months passed over our heads 
since our expressed thoughts went forth to 
the world.* So very quickly does the time 
slip away when the mind is fully occupied ! 

The importance of St. Valentine's Day no 
person attempts to dispute. Birds and 
animals, lads and lasses, young people and 
old people, rich and poor, gentle and simple, 
— all seem to regard the day as an eventful 
one in the Calendar. As for the poor post- 
men — those shamefully ill-paid, but best of 
men, their legs know little rest from 
morning till night. So laden are they with 
"heavy "messages of love, and borne down 
by " pictures " of the wooed and the wooing ; 
some very like — a whale ! 

A tolerable idea may be formed of the 
extent of adoration lavished by the worship- 
pers at the shrine of St. Valentine, on the 
objects of their heart, when we state a little 
statistical fact in connection with the 14th 
day of last February. Up to five o'clock, 
p.m., 200,000 letters over and above the 
ordinary daily average, had passed through 
the Post Office in St. Mar tin's-le- Grand. 
This was for London alone ; and the net 
profit was nearly £1,500. When we come to 
calculate further the quantity of ink, paper, 
wax, and pens used, and also the cost of the 
"Devices," &c, we imagine the revenue 
must feel grateful to the " good saint " for 
his patronage. 

The " pairing of birds " is said to com- 
mence on this day ; and many bird-fanciers 
make their preparations in consequence. It 
is not for us to debate upon the policy of 
such a step, at a time like this ; at all events, 
the birds are not allowed to have all the love 
to themselves. The example they set, is 
thought good enough to be followed by their 
young masters and mistresses. Accordingly, 
we find the day ushered in with an amount 
of pleasing curiosity, and harmless excite- 
ment, perfectly indescribable. Poor Kobin 
says, in his Almanac for 1557, " Term is no 
sooner out, than in comes Valentine, to trade 
in sweethearts. Then the maids look out 
sharp to have him for a Valentine (if pos- 
sible) whom they could inwardly incline to 
choose for a husband." He adds : — 

* See our article on " St. Valentine's Day" in 
Volume 1, of Our Journal, page 97. 

" A glorious month indeed, maids, this is ! 
It brings you scores and scores of kisses, 
For always, when the sun comes there,* 
Valentine's Day is drawing near ; 
And both the men and maids incline 
To choose them each a Valentine. 
Should a man get the one he loves, 
He gives her first a pair of gloves ; 
And entre nous, to seal his bliss, 
He crowns the favor with a kiss. 
The kiss begets more love — and then 
That love begets a kiss again ; 
Until the man this trade doth catch, 
And then he does propose the match. 
The maid is " willing " tho' she's shy, 
She gives her swain this soft reply : 
"I'll not decide one thing or other 
Until I first consult my mother ! " 
When she says so, 'tis half a grant, 
And may be taken for ' consent.' " 

Just so, good Robin. Only get the ear of 
your " heart's idol " to listen to you. Your 
words will quickly sink into her heart ; and 
her " wish " will be her mother's " law." 
Never go one step, say we, without the 
consent of the mother. Her blessing is above 
all. This is a remark by the way. 

We are inclined favorably towards the 
little displays made on this memorable day, 
inasmuch as they are for the most part purely 
harmless. The ideas are, with a few excep- 
tions, cut and dried. They are not the irre- 
pressible bursts of passion, made by a heart 
"full to o'erflowing." No! The "senti- 
ments " are prepared in a garret by some 
poor author, or disappointed suitor, perhaps ; 
and disposed of by him to the printers of 
these literary curiosities. They have then 
to be wedded to certain symbolic designs, 
and invested with a dignity meant to strike 
deep into the heart. We will not attempt 
to turn such poetical effusions into contempt. 
Oh no ! Let them go forth with their speak- 
ing voices ; led by rosy-faced Cupids, armed 
with majestically-mischievous bows and 
glittering arrows, and attended with the 
flaming torches of Hymen — chariots of love, 
crowned with roses, and drawn by sylphs, 
flying ethereally towards the altar. 

There is a pretty considerable trade done in 
these elaborated missives of love. No sooner 
has the new year dawned upon us, than 
" Valentines" greet us in multitudes, in nearly 
every successive window of the shops of 
London and the suburbs. How we do delight 
in halting now and then, to fathom the hearts 
of the many pretty, innocent faces, that we 
behold gazing into those same shop windows ! 
Nor will we affirm that we have not made a 
viva voce observation more than once, that 
has called forth a bewitching smile from the 
rosy lips, parted by a row of ivory, which 
belonged to the fair creature we have been 

* The sun this month enters into " Pisces." 



As regards ourself, we very strongly object 
to all tliese u ready cut and dried " effusions. 
They are tasteless — spiritless — meaningless. 
They have no point. They will do for one ; 
they will do for all. Over-grown Cupids 
rolling over clouds, their cheeks bedaubed 
with vennillion— ugly little hump-backed 
churches, botched with imitation-ivy (where 
no sane mortal could ever think of getting 
married ; and top-heavy chariots shining in 
ochre — such attempts at heart-stealing as 
these, delight us not. Nor have we ever been 
seriously smitten by those hosts of little nude 
Cupids, who so mysteriously creep out of full- 
blown cabbage-roses, making the best of their 
way to large over-grown hearts, stuffed with 
double-headed arrows — these said hearts 
uttering dolorous complaints in so called 
verse, whilst frying in their own flames. 
These never took our fancy. 

"We believe we were the first to originate 
the idea, of sending the girl of our heart an 
emblematical device on pasteboard of a 
closed cabinet, with a latch attached. On 
lifting this, the doors flew open ; and an ele- 
gant silvered mirror, concealed by a veil of 
silver gauze, was seen suspended in the front. 
Beneath it was written : — 

Remove this veil with care, and see 
The only girl who's dear to me ; 
If she will let me call her " mine," 
I'll seek >o other Valentine. 

This, though a boyish effusion, was. we 
remember, a dead shot. The idea was a 
pretty one ; we were suspected, accepted, 
beloved, and caressed (of course). 

Hurdis says, writing of this memorable 
day : — 

This day doth herald in St. Valentine ! 
Now maids are brisk,. and at the break of day 
Start up and turn their pillows, curious all 
To know what happy swain the fates provide 
A mate for life. Then follows thick discharge 
Of true-love knots, and sonnets nicely penned ; 
But to the learned critic's eye no verse, 
But prose distracted. 

We have not made much progress since 
the days of Hurdis. If ladies 1 hearts fall 
before the poetry of modern Valentines, they 
must, we think, be indeed made of " melting 

It is said that the sweet air of " Rousseau's 
Dream " was first imported into this country 
some fifty years ago ; and that the first Eng- 
lish words ever written to it were in the 
form of a serenade from a lover to his be- 
trothed, on the morning of St. Valentine's 
Day. We have a copy of the lines in our 
possession, and we subjoin them : — 

Health to thee, mine own sweet lady ! 

Health and blessing, first and last ! 
Now may Heaven, all bounteous, aid me 

Round thy path new spells to cast. 

Blessed be thine early morning! 

Blessed be thine evening close I 
Blessed thy going and returning, 

Summer hours and winter snows ! 

Not to thee, all undeceiving, 

Pure of spirit, frank of heart, 
Shall the Muse, her fictions weaving, 

Act the faithless flatterer's part. 
"V\ in and wear thy prize, fair lady ! 

Faith as true, as pure as thine, 
Love and service ever ready, 

From thy well-known Valentine. 

We must confess that, as we grow older, 
we cling more to the poetry of love than to 
the rattling jingle of School-boy sonnets. 
Love is an expansive element — not a mere 
simpering look of yes or no. It is a deep 
stream, into which the lower you plunge the 
sweeter the feeling. We could write on this 
subject for ever ; but we forget that this is a 
mere piece de cir Constance. Let us conclude, 
therefore, with the ''Valentine Wreath,'' by 
Montgomery. It is a gem worth " setting" 
in Ouu own Journal : — 

Rosy red the hills appear 

With the light of morning ; 
Beauteous clouds in aether clear, 

All the East adorning. 
White through mist the meadows 6hine, 
Wake, my love — my Valentine ! 

For thy locks of raven hue, 

Flowers of hoar-frost pearly, 
Crocus-cups of gold and blue, 

Snow-drops drooping early, 
With Mezereon sprigs combine : 
Rise, my love — my Valentine ! 

O'er the margin of the flood, 

Pluck the daisy peeping ; 
Through the covert of the wood, 

Hunt the sorrel creeping. 
With the little celandine, 
Crown my love — nry Valentine ! 

Pansies, on their lowly stems, 

Scattered o'er the fallows ; 
Hazel-buds with crimson gems, 

Green and glossy sallows ; 
Tufted moss and ivy-twine, 
Deck my love — my Valentine ! 

Few and simple flow'rets these ; 

Yet to me less glorious 
Garden beds and orchard trees ! 

Since this wreath victorious 
Binds thee now for ever mine, 
Oh ! my love — my Valentine ! 

One parting remark about Valentine, who 
to-day woos the fair. Ladies! one little 
word in your ear, if you please : — 

Let virtue, honor, sense, and truth unite, 
Whate'er the fortune, Valentine is right. 
Absent these qualities (thus ends our song), 
Whate'er the fortune, Valentine is wrong. 






It is a curious fact connected with our 
race, that whilst one part is progressing 
with railway speed towards perfection, the 
other part is retrograding in intellect in an 
inverse ratio. If any proof of this be want- 
ing, see it in the blind allegiance paid by 
the million to newspaper advertisements — 
all of th^mjust so many "shams." 

Let us take up any one of the daily sheets 
of the Times newspaper. What see we 
there ? Why, advertisements innumerable 
of every kind of " want" — whether as 
applied to things, people, or money. It has 
been said, that the public may be divided 
into ten parts. Nine of these parts are 
fools, the tenth consists of wise men. It has 
been further said, and truly — that the tenth 
part swallows up the other nine ! This is a 
fact ! 

The tenth part of the public, then, are 
those who live by putting specious adver- 
tisements into the " Times," so artfully 
worded as to work upon the passions or the 
weak point of an erring mortal. The hook 
is, for the most part, so nicely, so temptingly 
baited, that it is sure of securing a victim : 
when secured, bis " fate" may be guessed : ex. 

It is well known that many of our work - 
ing clergy are very poor (all " worthy" clergy- 
men must be very poor. This is nature's 
law). Well ; to" meet their views," money is 
advertised as forthcoming " on easy terms." 
The poor clergyman sees the bait ; swallows 
it ; corresponds ; sends up his acceptance on 
blank paper, gets no money in return ; finds 
himself " done" on coming up to town, and 
his acceptance originally sent for £100 altered 
to £400. The bill is passed away ; it becomes 
due ; the clergyman is sued ; persecuted ; 
ruined ! The same trick, in different dis- 
guises, fills the columns of the " Times" 
daily. The advertisers live in style ; whilst 
their victims are plundered, and frequently 
commit suicide. 

As for the simple who believe every 
thing on a small scale, they are plundered 
very easily. Thus, if a man be bald headed, 
he reads, in the advertisement of a swindling 
advertiser, — " hair is perfectly restored after 
seven years baldness." Miss Dean tells him 
the " fact" so positively, that he cannot but 
believe her. He pays 2s. for the " elegantly 
scented compound," and finds himself 
" done," — besides being more bald than ever 
he was. He is exhorted to " persevere." 
He does so ; buys some dozen pots, and finds 
himself without a single hair on his head ! 
The same with quack medicines, — in fact 
with nearly all the marvellous advertise- 

ments. The greater the fabrication, the more 
impossible the cure, — the greater the credit 
given to the wonderful heal-all ! One " Pro- 
fessor" tells us daily in the " Times," that his 
ointment cures broken legs, after two or three 
applications ; and that his pills will make an 
old man young again. He says so ; and 
people believe him. They take his physic 
and die ; he takes their money and laughs 
at them. The fact is, none of these adver- 
tisements can be believed. " They lie like 

It is vain for us, to hope to effect much 
good by any expose that we might make ; still 
if we only save one intended victim, we 
shall be more than satisfied. We will now 
introduce a brief account of a recent 
case of extortion made by a " Matrimonial 
Alliance Association," who had volunteered 
by advertisement to procure wives or hus- 
bands " to order." The person " done" on 
this occasion, was Mr. Pellas — a merchant 
of Fenchurch Street ; but it turned out, 
subsequently, a case of " the biter bit." 
We record the circumstances of the trial in 
Our Journal, by way of a warning to all 
who want wives, or husbands " by proxy." 
Rely on it, good people, the old way is best. 
If a woman is not worth winning and wooing, 
she is not worth having : — 

An action was brought in the West- 
minster County Court, by a foreigner named 
Pellas, a merchant, of Fenchurch Street, 
City, against a person of the name of Hunter, a 
manager of the Legal Matrimonial Alliance Asso- 
ciation, the offices of which were stated to be at 
No. 2, Portsmouth-street, Lincoln's-inn-fields, to 
recover the sum of £10, which he had paid under 
a promise of being introduced by the " Society" to 
a lady destined to be his wife, but which promise 
had not been performed. 

From the statement of Mr. De Jersey, who 
detailed the facts in an unusually humorous style, 
it appeared that in September last his client, who 
was a native of Genoa, observed in a weekly 
newspaper an article headed "Important to 
Bachelors and Spinsters," wherein all who were 
single were invited to become members, if they 
desired to taste the joys of wedlock ; the mar- 
riage to be of mutual advantage. The plaintiff 
wishing to try such an event, wrote to Mr. Hugo 
Beresforcl, to whom applications were to be made 
at the above address, he being secretary, the fol- 
lowing letter : — 

" Sept. 3, 1852. 

" Sir, — Some time ago, the writer saw an 
advertisement of yours in the London paper, un- 
der the title of ' The Matrimonial Alliance Asso- 
ciation,' and now should feel obliged by your 
letting him know, at the earliest convenience, 
what you think you could really do for him, 
he being a most honorable and respectable 
unmarried gentleman desirous of getting mar- 
ried to a respectable lady — no matter her age 
— possessing a handsome fortune, and who, after 
satisfactory inquiries, might be disposed to help 
him with a loan of £2,000, purposely to increase 



his business^ which is most lucrative, and pre- 
sents the greatest security. He has for several 
years been an established foreign commission- 
merchant in the city of London, enjoys great 
respectability and credit in the trade, is banking 
with a first-rate firm in Lombard-street, and in 
fact, can give the best references for the period 
of the last twenty years. He is only hardly 
a middle-aged gentleman, foreigner by birth, and 
is living in London. He has a dwelling-house 
for himself, entirely for him, and it is furnished 
the same as any lady or gentleman of 6tyle can 
wish. "With the rest, please to state your terms, 
as these must be settled beforehand. Enclosed 
you will find five postage stamps. I remain yours 
truly. A B. — P.S. Please address the letters 
only Mr. W. Jones, No. 10, the Grove, Clapham- 
road, Surrey." 

A prompt reply from Mr. Hugo Beresford was 
sent, asking for the usual registration fee of 5s. 
in postage stamps, on the receipt of which a 
printed form of application would be forwarded. 
The stamps were sent, the plaintiff in exchange 
being supplied with the said form. In this he 
was to state his age, weight, height, complexion, 
color of hair and eyes ; and, in fact, describe 
himself as he would a horse he had to dispose 
of (laughter/ He did all that, after which Mr. 
Hugo Beresford again wrote to him, intimating 
that he had a very choice collection of ladies on 
hand, the charge on an engagement with either 
of which would be between £30 and £40 ; and that 
a small deposit was required, which, if, after 
forwarding, the plaintiff should not be " suited," it 
would be placed to his credit, and deducted from 
the gross amount when he was. Plaintiff there- 
upon enclosed in an envelope to Mr. Beresford a 
cheque upon Messrs. Glynn, his bankers, for £5, 
which had the effect of causing Mr. Beresford 
to make another demand upon plaintiff's purse, at 
the same time intimating that the Christian name 
of the lady he was to be introduced to was 
" Fanny" (loud laughter). His client, still under 
the impression that this was only the legalised 
ordeal of bachelorship, and the name of his per- 
spective wife invigorating him, transmitted another 
cheque of £5 — hoping he should be introduced 
to the lady. Mr. Beresford, however, judged he 
had got a flat in plaintiff, to whom he made a 
communication that on the receipt of another 
£10, his wish should be gratified, but otherwise 
it could not be. The plaintiff then, for the first 
time, began to feel a little doubtful of the affair 
he had blindly embarked in, and resolved to go 
to the company's office, in Portsmouth-street, 
where on asking for Mr. Beresford, he was intro- 
duced to the defendant, who, having taken him 
into a dark, dirty apartment, more like a den 
than a room, asked him his business, which he 
told. Defendant upon that, having locked the 
door, said, Mr. Beresford's abroad ; my name's 
Hunter ; I have been corresponding with you for 
him, and I suppose you have come to pay the 
required £10." Plaintiff assured him that he 
meant no such thing, and should not advance any 
more money till he could see the lady, or have 
some reference given him as to the respectability 
and honor of the company he had entered into 
dealings with. On uttering these words, the 
defendant complained of the slur thus cast upon 

an association having in its banker's hands up- 
wards of £3,000 ; and his fierce looks frightening 
the plaintiff, he promised to send £10 on the 
morrow, and was allowed to depart. On reach- 
ing the street, he ran away ; not stopping till 
within a few paces of his own residence. This- 
was on the 29th of September, and on the follow- 
ing day he sent a note, declining any further trans- 
actions with the Matrimonial Alliance Associa- 
tion. The Association was, however, not to be 
so easily disenthralled from a person who had got 
into their meshes, and threats of proceedings 
against him in the Sheriff's Court were made 
unless he paid the £10 by twelve o'clock on a 
certain day ; when, if the lady, on an interview 
did not suit, it would be returned. His client 
was inflexible ; and being on two occasions refused 
the £10, which had been fraudulently, as he 
considered, obtained from him, he instituted these 
proceedings. Subsequently to that event, Mr. 
Hugo Beresford was loth to lose his game in the 
person of the plaintiff, and sent him the following 
rich morceau : — " Mr. Beresford would be happy 
to arrange a meeting with a lady, another 'likely' 
character, with whom an interview can be given." 
Plaintiff was proof against this and other over- 
tures made to alter the course he had adopted, 
and he was determined that, through an exposure 
by the press, the public should be put on their 
guard from being defrauded by an alleged bona 
fide association, not worth a straw. 

The plaintiff, a good-looking gentlemanly 
young man, of mild demeanor, in broken English 
corroborated the facts in chief, as narrated by his 

Cross-examined by Mr. Eoberts : He had never 
before speculated in marriage. His father wanted 
to bring him up a priest ; but he did not like it, 
and came to this country. He was under thirty 
years of age. He did not care about his wile's 
age, as he wanted a companion in a woman, and 
money might give her a favorality (laughter,). 
He should, he thought, have objected to marry 
a woman more than middle aged. On seeing 
the Matrimonial Alliance, he said let us try. He 
knew of no firm of that name (laughter), but said 
so to himself. 

His honor observed, that no doubt the money 
had been obtained by fraud upon the plaintiff, 
and the defendant, who was the only person he 
had seen throughout the transaction, was liable, 
and he should, therefore, make an order for its 
payment. — I propose, then, ten shillings a month. 

Mr. De Jersey : What ! ! By an association 
boasting of having in their banker's hands £3,000 
(laughter) ! I press for payment forthwith. — An 
order was then made for immediate payment — 


An occasional exposure of this kind is salu- 
tary. Let us hope that " wives by advertise- 
ment" will be laid aside for a long time to 
come. Connected with " Matrimonial adver- 
tisements," to catch flats, the subjoined is 
far too good to be lost sight of. It is now 
appearing daily and weekly in the news- 
papers; and would not, we imagine, be so 
industriously kept up, unless it amply 
repaid Madame M., the flat-catcher, for her 



outlay. It is headed, " 8107 marriages 
last year," and proceeds thus : — 

" Matrimony made easy, or how to win a 

lover. — Madame M , London, continues 

to send free to any address, on receipt 
of thirteen postage stamps (uncntj, plain 
directions to enable Ladies or Gentlemen 
to win the devoted affections of as many of the 
opposite sex as their hearts may desire. The 
process is simple — so captivating and enthralling, 
that all may be married, irrespective of age, 
appearance, or position ; while the most fickle, or 
cold-hearted, may readily bow to its attractions. 
Young and old, peer and peeress, as well 
as the peasant, are alike subject to its influence ; 
and last, though not least, it can be arranged 
with such ease and delicacy that exposure is 
impossible, — Beware of ignorant pretenders." 

The winning of a lover, it will be seen, is 
herein described as simple, captivating, and 
enthralling. All may be married, irrespective 
of age, or appearance, whilst the fickle and 
cold-hearted may be rendered constant and 
ardent as fire. Then, " ease" and " delicacy" 
are called in; and " exposure" rendered " im- 
possible." This is rich, — and only exceeded 
by the last concluding sentence, cautioning 
the public against herself. — Beware of" igno- 
rant pretenders ! " 

It is worthy of note, that the greater the 
impudence put forward in advertisements, the 
greater the success in procuring dupes. Is 
not the subjoined, cut out of the paper only 
a day or two since, rich and rare ? Oh ! 
thou most gullible John Bull ! 

" Bashfulness. — Those persons who are troubled 
with bashfulness, timidity, disinclination to enter 
a " room full of company," inability to speak 
freely when in company, &c, should at once write 
to Mr. J. Parkinson, who will forward them his 
advice on the means to be employed for obtain- 
ing confidence, the power of conversing and 
mingling freely in society without being annoyed 
by any disagreeable feeling of restraint ; in short, 
the comfortable assurance of easy gentility. — 
Direct (enclosing two dozen postage-stamps and a 
directed envelope) to Mr. J. Parkinson, care of 
the Post Office, &c, &c." 

The " two dozen postage - stamps" is 
nothing, in comparison with " the comfort- 
able assurance of easy gentility." Whether 
the latter be forthcoming or not, is beside 
the question. The "two dozen stamps," 
value 2s., will never be refunded ! 

There are two sides to every question. 
We remember once advertising for "a 
housekeeper." Being young and inexpe- 
rienced, we perhaps worded our " want" 
rather loosely ; at all events, no sooner had 
the advertisement appeared, than we were 
besieged on every hand by the hunters-up 
of advertisements. We were looked upon 
as fair game by old and young, ugly and 
pretty. Some smirked at us, some winked 
at us ; some said, " they knew they should 

suit us nicely ;" and others wanted to take 
" instant possession" of our royal person. 
Vain was it for us, — then a blooming youth, 
to remonstrate. It would not do. Every 
one of these besetting, besieging house- 
keepers,tried to vanquish us by saying she was 
"just the thing" ; and we barely escaped with 
the skin of our teeth. At last, out of revenge 
we selected, as a safeguard, one of the ugliest 
and silliest ; and then made a sortie, we 
remember, by a side door, whilst the fair 
would-be invaders of our domestic felicity 
trooped off most reluctantly one by one. The 
day following they again dropped in, by 
couplets and triplets, to see as they said 
"which way the wind lay." But we were 
firm, — a martyr to our principles. 

We had taken a servant who was an adver- 
tisement-hunter. Of course therefore we were 
robbed. We had been told it would be so; 
but we thought we knew woman-kind better, 
and so we paid for our experience. Our 
wardrobe diminished one half at least, in 
four months ; our brown brandy became 
" pale," by coming into too close contact 
with water ; the Geneva turned out 
" water bewitched ;" and the rum was, as 
our bachelor-friends expressed it, — " Rum 
indeed !" A double set of keys too, placed 
all our secrets at the mercy of Madame ; 
and we found ourselves fairly obliged to 
give her notice to quit. This over-polite 
woman was always an eye-sore to us. We 
had taken her in a pet, — we kept her as a 
matter of philosophical necessity. WTien 
she was gone, we shouted for joy ; and vowed 
soon to commit Matrimony as a panacea 
for all such evils. We kept our vow. 

We again repeat, — shun all wants and 
wishes made known through tricky advertise- 
ments. They are webs — woven by the few 
for the destruction of the many. 


It is winter — veritable winter — with hona 
fide frost, and cramping cold, and a sun as 
clear and powerless as moonlight. The win- 
dows glitter with the most fantastic frost-work . 
Cities, with their spires and turrets, ranks of 
spears, files of horsemen — every gorgeous and 
brilliant array told of in romance or song, 
start out of that mass of silvery tracery, like 
the processions of a magic mirror. What a 
miraculous beauty there is in frost ! What 
fine work in its radiant crystals ! What 
mystery in its exact proportions and its mani- 
form varieties ! The feathery snow-flake, the 
delicate rime, the transparent and sheeted ice, 
the magnificent iceberg moving down the sea 
like a mountain of light — how beautiful are 
they all, and how wonderful is it, that, break 
and scatter them as you will, you will find 
under every form the same faultless angles, 



the same crystalline and sparkling radiation. 
It sometimes grows suddenly cold at noon. 
There has been a heavy mist all the morning, 
and. as the north wind comes sharply in, the 
air clears and leaves it frozen upon everything, 
with the thinness of palpable air. The trees 
are clothed with a line white vapor, as if a 
cloud had been arrested and fixed motionless 
in the branches. They look, in the twilight 
like gigantic spirits, standing in broad ranks 
and clothed in drapery of supernatural white- 
ness and texture. On close examination, the 
crystals are as tine as needles, and standing 
in perfect parallelism, pointing in the direction 
of the wind. They are like fringes of the 
most minute threads, edging every twig and 
filament of the tree, so that the branches are 
thickened by them, and have a shadowy and 
mysterious look, as if a spirit-foliage had 
started out from the naked limbs. It is not 
so brilliant as the common rime seen upon 
the trees after a frozen rain, but it is infi- 
nitely more delicate and spiritual, and to us 
seems a phenomenon of exquisite beauty. 





Dearest, I'm thine, whatever this heart betide, 
For ever thine, where'er our lot be cast ; 
Fate, that may rob us of all wealth beside, 
Shall leave us Love, till death itself be past. 

The world may wrong us, we will brave its hate ; 
False friends may change, and false hopes decline ; 
Tho' bowed by cankering cares we'll smile at fate, 
Since thou art mine, belov'd, and I am thine ! 

For ever thine, — when circling years have spread 
Time's snowy blossoms o'er thy placid brow ; 
When youth's rich glow, its purple light is fled, 
And lilies bloom where roses flourish now. 

Say, shall I love thy fading beauty less, 
When spring-tide radiance has been wholly mine ? 
Let come what will, thy steadfast truth I'll bless, 
In youth, in age, — thine own, for ever thine ! 

For ever thine — at evening's dewy hour, 
When gentle hearts to tend'rest thoughts incline ; 
When balmiest odors from each closing flower 
Are breathing round, I'm thine, for ever thine. 

For ever thine, 'mid fashion's heartless throng, 
In courtly bowers, at folly's gilded shrine ; 
Smiles on my cheek, light words upon my tongue, 
My deep heart still is thine, for ever thine. 

For ever thine, amid the boisterous crowd, 
"Where the jest sparkles with the sparkling wine ; 
I may not breathe thy gentle name aloud, 
But drink to thee in thought, — for ever thine ! 

I would not, sweet, profane that silvery sound, — 
The depth of love could such rude heart divine , 
Let the loud laughter peal, the toast go round ; 
But still my thoughts are thine, — for ever thine. 

For ever thine, whate'er this heart betide, 
For ever thine, where'er our lot be ca>t ; 
Fate that may rob us of all wealth beside, 
Shall leave us Love, till life itself be past ! 


Hold ! hold ! -what would these endless clouds be at ! 

1 hese five days it has been but pour — pour — pour; 

Methinks 'twill float again the ark of Noah 
From its old station on Mount Ararat. 
Oh! 'tis a pleasant time for cloak and hat ; 
And for umbrellas, laid in dozens by, 
That, as one drops, another may be dry : 
For cork-soled shoes, stilts, oilcase, and all that. 
Out, cat ! why turn thy back upon the fire ? 

We've rain enough, I say! — We'll try again 
This weatherglass; — sweet finger, pray mount higher ! 

Down !— down it goes !— oh mercy ! — yet more rain ? 
Shall the world drown? no dry spot left upon it, 
And fishes swim where I now pen this sonnet ? 

February is, without doubt, the most 
cheerless month of the year. There may be 
pleasant varieties of it. The latter end 
may, and frequently is, much more agree- 
able than the commencement ; but, as a 
whole, it is at once cold, damp, and foggy. 
Besides the earth being saturated with a 
whole winter's moisture, there is, generally, 
abundance of rain during this month ; so 
much so, that it has acquired the cogno- 
men of ' February-fill-dike.' 

The frosts and snows which have been 
locking up, and burying the earth for weeks 
and months, are giving way ; and what is 
so cheerless and chilling as a great thaw ? 
There is a lack of comfort felt every where. 
In real winter-weather, when the clear 
frosty air sharply saluted the face by day, 
and revealed to the eye at night, a scene 
of sublime splendor in the lofty and in- 
tensely blue sky, glittering with congregated 
stars, or irradiated by the moon, — there 
was a sense of vigor, of elasticity, and of 
freshness, which made it welcome ; but 
now, — most commonly, by day and night, 
the sky is hidden in impenetrable vapor — 
the earth is sodden and splashy with wet; 
— and even the very fireside does not escape 
the comfortless sense of humidity. 

Everything presents to the eye, accus- 
tomed so long to the brightness of clear 
frosts and the pure whiteness of snow, a 
dingy and soiled aspect. All things are 
dripping with wet. It hangs upon the walls 
like a heavy dew ; it penetrates into the 
drawers and wardrobes of our warmest 
chambers ; and we are surprised at the 
unusual dampness of our clothes, linen, 
books, paper, — and, in short, almost every- 
thing which we have occasion to examine. 
Brick and stone floors are now dangerous 
things for delicate and thinly-shod people 
to stand upon. To this source, and, in 
fact, to the damps of this month, operat- 
ing in various ways, may be attributed not 
a few of the colds, coughs, and consump- 
tions so prevalent in England. Pavements 
are frequently so much elevated by the 
expansion of the moisture beneath, as to 
obstruct the opening and shutting of doors 



and gates, and our gravel-walks resemble 
saturated sponges. 

Abroad, the streets are flooded with 
muddy water, and slippery with patches of 
ice and half-melted snow, which strikes 
through our shoes in a moment. The houses, 
and all objects whatever, have a dirty and 
disconsolate aspect ; and clouds of dun and 
smoky haze hover over the whole dis- 
spiriting scene. In the country, the pros 
pect is not much better. The roads are 
full of mire. Instead of the enchantments 
of hoar-frost, so beautifully described by 
the poet, — 

Artist unseen ! that dipt in frozen dew 

Hast on the glittering glass thy pencil laid, 
Ere from yon sun the transient visions fade, 

Swift let me trace the forms thy fancy drew ! 

Thy towers and palaces of diamond hue, 
Rivers and lakes of lucid crystal made, 
And hung in air hoar trees of branching shade, 

That liquid pearl distil : — thy scenes renew, 

Whate'er old bards or later fictions feign, 
Of secret grottoes underneath the wave, 
Where Nereids roof with spar the amber cave ; 

Or bowers of bliss, where sport the fairy train, 
Who, frequent by the moonlight wanderer seen, 
Circle with radiant gems the dewy green. 

Instead of these we say, we have naked 
hedges, with sallow and decaying weeds 
beneath them ; pastures brown and wet ; and 
sheets of ice which recently afforded such fine 
exercise to skaters and sliders, are half sub- 
mersed in water, — full of great cracks, and 
scattered with straws, and dirty patches, and 
stones half liberated by the thaw. Let us 
felicitate ourselves, however, that such a 
joyless time is seldom of long continuance. 
The winds of March will speedily come pip- 
ing their jovial strains ; clearing the face of 
the blessed Heavens from their sullen veil of 
clouds, and sweeping away the superabun- 
dant moisture from earth and air. 

The banks are partly green ; hedges and trees 
Are black and shrouded, and the keen wind 

Like dismal music wand'ring over seas, 
And wailing to the agitated shores. 

The fields are dotted with manure — the sheep 
In unshorn wool, streaked with the shepherd's 

Their undivided peace and friendship keep, 
Shaking their bells, like children to their bed. 

The roads are white and miry — waters run 

With violence through their tracks — and sheds, 
that flowers 

In summer graced, are open to the sun; 

Which shines in noonday's horizontal hours. 

Frost claims the night ; Morning, like a bride, 
Forth from her chamber glides ; Mist spreads 
her vest ; 

The sunbeams ride the clouds till eventide ; 
And the wind rolls them to ethereal rest. 

Sleet, shine, cold, fog, in portions fill the time ; 

Like hope, the prospect cheers ; like breath it 
fades : 
Life grows in seasons to returning prime, 

And beauty rises from departing shades. 

Oh ! blithe and animating is the breath of 
March ! It is like a cool, but spirit-stirring 
draught of some ancient vintage; elating, 
but not enervating the heart, deadening the 
memory of past evil, and expanding the 
mind with the delicious hope of future de- 
lights. Such a precious boon, however, is 
not exclusively permitted to March. Feb- 
ruary is often allowed to be a liberal par- 
taker ere its close ; and we have known the 
winds lift up their voices, in this month, with 
all their triumphant and sonorous energy. 

Nothing, perhaps, can illustrate so vividly 
our idea of spirit as a mighty wind, — present 
in its amazing power and sublimity, yet seen 
only in its effects. We are whirled along by 
its careering torrent with irresistible power; 
we are driven before it, as Miss Mitford says, 
as by a steam engine. How it comes rush- 
ing and roaring over the house, like the 
devouring billows of an ocean broke loose ! 
Then for the banging of doors — the swinging 
and creaking of signs — the clatter of falling 
shutters in the street ! Then for the crash 
of chimnies — the toppling down of crazy 
gables — the showering of tiles upon the pave- 
ment, as if the bomb- shells of a besieging 
army were demolishing the roofs, and render- 
ing it death even to walk the streets. Then 
for a scene of awful grandeur upon the shores 
of the glorious ocean. That which but an 
hour before was calm and sun- bright, a 
variety of vessels lying at anchor, or sailing 
to and fro in serene beauty, — then is become 
a scene of sublime and chaotic uproar ; the 
waves rolling, and foaming, and dashing their 
spray over rocks, pier-heads, houses, and 
even over the loftiest towers and churches too 
— as we have seen it, — to an amazing extent, 
till the water ran down the walls like rain, 
and the windows, at a great distance from the 
beach, were covered with a salt incrustation 
— the vessels meanwhile laboring amidst the 
riotous billows as for life, and tugging at 
their cables as if mad for their escape. 

Many a beautiful, many a wild, many an 
animated spectacle is to be witnessed on the 
shores of our happy isle in such moments ! 
What a solemn and sublime war, also, is 
there in the woods — a sound as of vast and 
tempestuous seas ! What poetical spirit can 
hear it without being influenced by incom- 
municable sensations ; and ideas of power, 
majesty, and the stupendous energies of the 
elements ! 

Oh ! storm and darkness ; ye are wondrous strong. 

What picturesque ruin is there scattered 
around us ! Trees overwhelmed — immense 



branches torn off — small boughs broken— and 
dry leaves whirled along, or quivering in the 
air like birds. 

Not unfamiliar to mine ear, 

Blasts of the night ! ye how], as now 

My shuddering casement loud 

With fitful force ye beat. 

Mine ear has dwelt in silent awe, — 
The howling sweep, the sudden rush ; 

And when the pausing gale 

Poured deep the hollow dirge. 

Once more I listen ; sadly communing 
Within me, — once more mark, storm- clothed, 

The moon, as the dark cloud 

Glides rapidly away. 

I, deeming that the voice of spirits dwells 

In these mysterious moans, in solemn thought 

Muse on the choral dance, 

The dead man's jubilee. 

Hark ! how the spirit knocks, — how loud 
Even at my window knocks, — again ; — 

I cannot — dare not sleep, — 

Tt is a boisterous night. 

I would not, at this moment, be 
In the drear forest groves, to hear 

This uproar and rude song 

King o'er the arched aisles. 

The ear doth shudder at such sounds ; 
As the unbodied winds, in their disport, 

Wake in the hollow woods, 

When man is gone to sleep. 

Towards the end of the month, we are 
gladdened with symptoms of approaching 
spring. On warm banks, the commencement 
of vegetation is perceptible. The sap is 
stirring in the trees, swelling and feeding the 
buds ; and, in gardens, a variety of green 
things are peeping from the earth, and snow- 
drops, hepaticas, &c, are actually in bloom. 
In towns, it is a cheering sight, even while 
all without is wintry and frosty, to see as we 
pass, in cottage windows, tufts of crocuses 
and snowdrops flowering in pots : — 

The snowdrop, rising to its infant height, 

Looks like a sickly child upon the spot 

Of young nativity, regarding not 
The air's caress of melody and light 
Beamed from the east, and softened by the bright 

Effusive flash of gold — the willow stoops 
And muses, like a bride without her love, 

On her own shade, which lies on waves, and 
Beside the natal trunk, nor looks above : — 
The precipice, that torrents cannot move, 

Leans o'er the sea, and steadfast as a rock, 
Of dash and cloud unconscious, bears the rude 

Continuous surge, the sounds and echoes mock : 
Thus Mental Thought enduring, wears in solitude . 

Also ; to see in those of wealthier dwellings, 
hyacinths, narcissus, &c, in glasses display- 
ing their bulbs, and long, white, fibrous roots, 

in the clear water below, and the verdure 
and flowery freshness of summer above. If 
we are to believe travellers, in no country is 
the domestic culture of flowers so much 
attended to as in our own. We trust this 
will always be a prevailing taste with us. 
There is something pure and refreshing in the 
appearance of plants in a room ; and watched 
and waited on, as they generally are, by the 
gentle sex, they are links in many pleasant 
associations. They are the cherished favo- 
rites of our mothers, wives, sisters, and 
friends not less dear ; and connect themselves, 
in our minds, with their feminine delicacy, 
loveliness, and affectionate habits and senti- 

Sweet lady fair : — 

With tender vine-leaves wreathe thy brow ; 

And I shall fancy that I see, 
In the bright eye that laughs below; 
The dark grape on its parent tree. 

'Tis but a whim — but, oh ! entwine 

Thy brow with this green wreath of mine ! 

Weave of the clover-leaves a wreath, 

Fresh sparkling with a summer-shower, 
And I shall, in my fair one's breath, 
Find the soft fragrance of the flower. 
'Tis but a whim — but, oh ! do thou 
'TwineJJ&fr dark leaves around thy brow ! 

Oh, let sweet-leaved geranium be 

Entwined amidst thy clustering hair, 
Whilst thy red lips shall paint to me 
How bright its scarlet blossoms are. 

'Tis but a whim — but, oh ! do thou 
Crown with my wreath thy. -blushing brow ! 

Oh, twine young rose-leaves round thy head, 
And I shall deem the flowers are there, — 
The red rose on thy rich oheek spread, 
The white upon thy forehead fair. 

'Tis but a whim— but, oh ! entwine 

My wreath round that dear brow of 



Though the spring of our youth has departed, 

And withered its earliest bloom ; 
Though earth's tenants still, broken-hearted 

We close o'er our kindred the tomb ; 
There's a solace that never can perish, 

Faint record of long-faded joy, 
While fondly remembrance we cherish 

Of pleasure no anguish can cloy. 

When the heart with kind feelings o'erflowing, 

To life's coming troubles is kind ; 
When time and regard, without knowing, 

Have fostered young love in the mind ; 
Oh ! 'tis sweet when adversity lours, 

And youth's merry sunshine is past, 
In mem'ry to dwell on those hours, 

Ere sorrow our gladness o'ercast ! 





Oh, absence ! by thy stem decree, 
How many a heart, once light and free, 

Is filled with doubts and fears ! 
Thy days like tedious weeks do seem ; 
Thy weeks, slow-moving months we deem, — 

Thy months, long-lingering years ! 

J. T. Watson. 

Though I am forced thus to absent myself 
From all I love, I shall contrive some means, 
Some friendly intervals, to chat with thee. 


INGULAR indeed is a man's des- 
tiny ! Here to-day, tie is, literally 
speaking, gone to-morrow ; leaving 
behind him, perhaps, from positive 
necessity, much, if not all, that his 
heart holds dear. This country 
bids fair to be decimated within 
another year. Let us hope that a 
rapid transit of letters, to and from, will cause many 
" twin hearts" to be saved from destruction. Ab- 
sence from " a lov'd one" is — " death." 

So very many of our acquaintances are daily 
departing to Australia, that we begin now to feel 
some peculiar interest for the country. Let us, 
therefore, hear what Mr. Lancelott says of the cli- 
mate. As he is mineralogical surveyor for the 
colonies, the authority may be considered first- 

" The seasons in Australia are the reverse of ours, 
July is mid-winter, January niicPsSmmer. The 
spring and autumn are very brief, and the transi- 
tion from one season to the other is so imperceptible, 
that it is difficult to say when the one begins or 
the other ends. 

Spring sets in early in September, when jhe 
atmosphere acquires a delightful warmth ; as the 
season advances,' the fall of rain decreases, the heat 
increases, and about the middle of November, sum- 
mer commences. The heat now becomes great ; 
and by the end of December, nearly all the rivers 
are dried up, vegetation has ceased, and the 
country assumes the appearance of an arid desert. 
At the close of February, a diminution of tempera- 
ture commences ; autumn beginning about the mid- 
dle of March, and early in April genial showers 
carpet the country with bright verdure, and the 
atmosphere becomes pleasantly cool and buoy- 
ant. Early in June, the season that can only 
be called winter from its situation in the calendar, 
commences ; and by the middle of July, torrents 
of rain have inundated the country, and rendered 
the water-courses mighty, rushing streams ; this 
cold rainy season generally terminates by the mid- 
dle or end of August. Between the rains at this 
season of the year, there are days, and, in some 
years, whole weeks together, of delightful weather; 
cool and bracing as the spring in England, but 
more beautiful and exhilirating. 

With the exception of about twenty-five ex- 
tremely hot days, and sixty disagreeable wet or 
cold days, the weather throughout the year is in- 
describably pleasant, the air is balmy and bright, 
scarcely a cloud is visible, and the sun looks down 
from the deep blue sky in unveiled splendor. The 
rising sun. is a sight most truly beautiful. The god 
of day from his eastern portals bursts the ebon pall 
of night, and flinging wide the purple and Vermil- 

lion curtain-clouds of morn, illumines the moun- 
tains with molten gold, dispensing life and light 
around, as he majestically mounts into the north- 
ern heavens. 

At the decline of day the scene is magnificent! 
Onward the mighty orb rolls, like a ball of molten 
iron, to the legion of gorgeous clouds that have 
risen in the far- west to herald it away ; the hills 
blaze up with crimson and gold, fringed with spark- 
ling silver, the tints of heaven's own iris are scat- 
tered over the sky, and the extended plains to the 
very horizon are tinged with pink. Even the 
cities and dwelling-places are colored with the rich, 
changing hues ; and from their windows are seen 
streams of liquid fire. Day and night are of nearly 
equal length throughout the year. The sun never 
remains above the horizon more than fourteen and 
a half hours, nor less than ten and a half ; and, as 
twilight does not linger in these latitudes, the 
changes from day to night, and from night to morn, 
are to an Englishman unpleasantly abrupt. The 
greater number of the nights are most enchanting. 
The southern constellations shine forth from the 
hard, dark heavens, in unrivalled brightness, and 
the haloed moon pours her chastened radiance on 
the plains and hills with such refulgence, that every 
thing for miles around is distinctly visible. 

The light of both the sun and the moon is more 
intense than in Britain. I should say the differ- 
ence is as five to three. The climate throughout 
the Australian province is decidedly hot. The 
thermometer in Sydney and Melbourne during 
summer, frequently reaches 90° or 100° Fahr. in 
the shade ; and occasionally 115° or even more. 
In winter it rarely ranges below 46° Fahr. ; hoar 
frost sometimes occurs ; ice, seldom or never. The 
variations in temperature are great and sudden ; 
noonday is frequently 20° hotter than morning or 
evening, while the heat of one day often differs 
from that of the next day by 15°. Then, as the 
southerly winds are altogether more moist than 
those of the northward, a change of wind without 
any alteration in the thermometer often chills se- 
verely ; indeed, the climate is much affected by 
the direction of the winds. That which blows 
from the northward, is extremely dry and often 

In winter it is moderately warm, in summer it 
is intensely hot, and rushes on with the velocity 
of a hurricane ; raising the thermometer in the 
shade to 110° or even 120° Fahr. , drying up the 
grass like hay, depriving the grape of its watery 
elements, rendering iron exposed to its influence 
so hot as to burn the hand on touching it, doing 
injury to the promising harvest, and filling the 
air with such quantities of dust and sand, that the 
sun's rays are shut, and only darkness is visible. 
The current of heated air appears confined to no 
particular altitude, but rushes upwards or down- 
wards, according to circumstances ; sometimes it 
assumes a rotary movement, as if revolving on a 
series of horizontal axes, thus : HUM ; or undulates 
thus : ~~~~~>~~~w— «~— Occasionally the hot 
wind travels so slowly, that its movement is 
scarcely perceptible ; there is then little dust, 
the heat of the sun's rays is great, and the 
earth is so torrid, that a thermometer which 
I sunk horizontally into the ground to the 
depth of 2 g- inches, in a situation exposed to the 
sun and wind, stood at 150° Fahr. On another 

Vol. III.— 2. 



■it T placed a 1 >;> i- of copper, about one loot fence la pre fe rred before all others, as it keeps 
knag and three inches wide by one inch thick, in a out sheep, pigs, and inch like quadrupeds ; it is 
situation exposed to the hot wind and the sun *s rajs; formed of pieces of timber, large and small, all 
when it had been thus placed for about two hours, cut into equal lengths, either of seven or eight 
1 wrapped some common pest letter paper round feet, and placed close and upright in a trench two 
tu in doing so, it accidentally came against feet deep, and tightly rammed; a rough batten 
my hand, which it burnt, and in a few hours after being nailed along the top as a hand. The '' ditch 
the place blisten 1. After the paper had been in and hank," and "dog and log " fence are ooca- 
cont id with the copper about an hour, the color sionally met with. A simple hut ingenious con- 
changed to ' deep straw or pale brown ; and it triranoe is frequently used for gate-hinges to the 
■ relied and rotten, that it broke in pieces " post and rail " fence, viz. : the hack upright of 

when I attempted to unwrap it. During the pre- the gate is made long, so as to form a top and 

valence of the i, the high clouds, cirrus, bottom spur, the top spur is pushed through a hole 

and stratft, dis ippear, while the lower remain un- formed to receive it in the ton rail of the fence, 

changed; and at night the air is commonly filled and the bottom spur is bevelled to 4 point, and 

with beautiful sheet-lightning tt is believed thai fitted into the conical bottom of a stout or wine- 

are no noxious gases in these winds, and 

they are said to exercise no deleterious effects on 

the health of man : the climate would, neverthe- 
less, be more salubrious without them, as, during 

their prevalence, nearly all persons of weakly or 
debilitated constitutions suffer extreme lassitude 
and depression. The moisture dries from the i 

the lips become parched and cracky, the breathing 

short and quick, the air as it enters the mouth 
Feels burning hot ; and while sitting perfectly still, 
the perspiration oozes from every pore in the skin. 

Ii dividuals of robust constitution, however, are not 
thus affected ; the hardy, sun-tanned colonists 

fie 1. expose themselves to the fiery blast; and, 
breathing the hoi air full of dust and sand, toil on 

imlill'erent to every thine; hut the demand of a 

parched thirst, and, in some i wolfish appe- 

tite. When questioned, they reply: "Oh. the 
heal is no nuisance ; it's the choking dust that's 

The same hook that thus speaks of the climate, 

tells us also something rery Interesting about the 

farms in Australia ; also ahout the fanners ami 

their wives : — 

"The farm houses are rough, hut generally sub- 
stantial and commodious : they are buill of differ- 
ent materials, according to circumstances ; it 

stone or slate la bandy, it is used ; if not, and suit- 
able clay exists in the neighborhood, bricks are 

■ted to; ami when none of these materials 

are to he had, the dwelling is built wholly of wood. 
These residences usually h ive no ceiling, nor 

Upper floor — when you look up you see the roof; 
the walls are not plastered, painted, nor in any 
way decorated except those which occasionally get 
a lime wash. The windows are sometimes canvas, 

sometimes glass, and the fire-places and chimniei 

are constructed as already described. For flooring, 

some have only earth, sonic are paved with stone, 
some with slate, a few with hricks, and a very few 

have wood Boon. Water for domesl lc and other pur- 
poses is usually procured hy sinking wells; and al- 
though occasionally pure and excellent, it is in 
general impregnated with minerals, hard and 
Brackish to the taste, and more or less nnwhole 
some. Near the farm house is the rough hut 
Strongly-built stock-yard, harn, Stable, and other 
needful outhouses. 
There are no ESnglish looking green hedges in 

the colony ; the farms are enclosed with rude, 
misshapen wood fences ; the three-rail "post ami 
rail" is the most usual ; it will cost from 70/. to 
HO/, to enclose an eighty-acre section with this 
fence. "Whoro timber is plentiful, the " kangaroo " 

bottle, which is sunk into the ground neck down- 
wards. This hinge never unships, and well 

answers its purpose. 

Tie' farmers furnish their dwellings with few 

articles of domestic convenience. Only a few 

wood-bottomed chairs, an uncushioned cedar sofa, 
one or two plain cedar tables, bedsteads of the 
plainest description, ami sometimes a small look- 
ing-glass, are to he met with in the dwellings of 
the more wealthy; most of the poor farmers make 
their own furniture, which generally consists of a 
few rude forms and stools, a table and bedstead ; 

and not unfrequently the only partition between 

the bed-room and the sitting-room is one or two 
outstretched sheets. Their cooking utensils and 
mode of cooking are similar to those of the urban 

population of victoria. They all live on plain 

but substantial dishes, and some keep a good 

stock of European wines, and British bottled stout 

and al(>. They of course raise nearly all their 

own edibles ; and in order to live on fresh meat, 

three or four of them will club together, and in 
turn each kill a sheep or hullock, as the case may 


The fanners, and indeed all persons who reside" 
away from the towns, dress in the coarsest ap- 
parel. The usual male attire is a pair of common 
slop trousers, a blue guernsey, with a leather belt 
to keep the trousers Up and the guernsey down, a 

flaunting red cotton handkerchief as a nock-tie ; a 
broad-brimmed cabbage tree hat, and a pair of 

heavy hobnail hoots. Some wear a coarse regatta 
shirt under the guernsey, and others, when cir- 
cumstances permit, enjoy ill the hot weather the 
luxury of nakedness, l>y dressing in only a shirt 
and a pair of hoots. The fanners' wives ami 
daughters Usually dress in cottons; their attire, 
although common and coarse, is neat, chaste', and 
tidv; thev wear high dresses, and cotton bonnets 
made with a large curtain to keep the sun from 
freckling the neck ; they nevertheless have their 
jewels, silks, iX:e., which they wear on festive 00- 
casicUS, Many of them are well educated, devoid 

of affectation, thrifty, and industrious. Indeed, I 
was struck in mv travels in the colony, with the 
beauty, the accomplished graces, the glowing 
health, the vivacity, and the open-heartedness of 
the fair sex in the rural districts ; and 1 should he 
Wanting in gratitude did I not record their dis- 
interested kindness, attention, and general liho- 
rality to the wandering stranger. 

Most of the fanners and others, who dwell in 
the rural districts within the hundred of the 
counties, are, although parsimonious to a fault, 



altogether more moral, more straightforward and 
honorable in their business transactions, more 
kind and considerate to their neighbors, and 
runs and hospitable to strangers, than the 
Mammon-worshipping Adeladians. Their chief 
sources of amusemenl are hunting, shooting, 
riding, and reading. Some possess their piano- 
forte, and enliven their homes «rith popular and 
even classical music, and occasionally dedicate an 
evening to Terpsichore, when the polka, mazurka, 
Bchottische, raJse-a-deux-temps, and other popular 
dances, are gone through with b grace and ■ 
thai would astonish the fashionables ofLondon." 

Every sudbessive year will keep adding to tko 
interest already created in favor 01 the e colonies, 
[t is curious to observe how eagerly everything 
connected with them is caught at and read. 


BY HELEN in: i uniUNOTON. 

Dark, cheerless Winter ! few wfll welcome thee, 
Or hail thy near approach with songs of joy ; 


They say thy days pass dull and heavi 

And that thou lov'st to scatter and destroy. 

They tell me, too, thy melancholy moan 

Chases all thoughts of happiness away; 
But thou nasi cans'; for sorrow ■-— joys have flown, 
And Earth's feu fallen to dbcuy. 

Where are those lovely lilies of the vale, 

The rose, the pink, and gems that deck'd Our 


Well may 'si thou weep, and moan thy plaintive 
wail, — 

The funeral dirge of Nature's fairest flowers. 

Yot have I seen thy smile — not like the Spring 
Or JOVOUS Summer. Timidly it. east 

A ray of future hope; and seemed to bring 
A sad, yet pleasing memory of tin; past. 

thou hast pleasures for the happy few, 
Who love to revel in the fond delights 
That Nature gives her children ; treasures, too, 
Of priceless worth; und grand and gorgeous 

With ecstacyl hail the bracing breeze, 

And love to watch the fairy flakes of snow, 
As they fall gracefully amongst the trees, 

To breathe a parting blessing ere they 

And who can fail to hjve thee? When the frost 
Has erystalised the earth, and the moon's 
Beams on the face of nature, — we are lost, 

In love and admiration at the sight. 

Then let us wander where the leafless 1i< 
Are dressed in crystal rohes, — earth's bright 

And brilliant ice-drops, moulding as they freeze, 
To deck with beauty Nature's diadem. 

Oh ! we will ne'er forget the joy. the pride, 

Of England's happy home! Where'er wo rove 

May happiness attend the dear fire-side, 
Ann WnrrzB'fl nmAME BOOTH ul GHSEBSD n 
Lots I 


How many persons are there, to whom the 

phenomena attendant upon dew and lm;ir 
frost are perfectly unknown! Yet are they 

alar, curious, and interesting: — 


When the direct influence of the sun i^ iv - 
moved, in t lie evening, and the .surface of the 
earth thus no longer continues to acquire 

heat,— at that instant, from the ceaseless ac 

tivitv of heat to maintain a State of eipiili 

brium, the surface of the earth, being the 
wanner body, radiates a portion of its su- 
perfluous temperature into the surrounding 

space ; and thus the air immediately in con 
tact with the surface becomes cooled below 

the point of saturation, and gives off a por- 
tion of its water in the form of dew. The 
deposition of dew is always most abundant 

during calm and < doudle-s nights, and in situ- 
ations freely exposed to the almo phere. 
Whalcver interferes in any way with the 
process of radial ion, as might be expected, 

a great effed on the deposition of dew. 
Hence the radiation of heat, and consequently 

the deposition of dew, are obvialed not only 
by the slightest covering or shelter, as by 

thin matting, or even muslin, by the neigh 
borhood oi buildings, and innumerable other 
impediments, near the earth's surface, Imt, 
matters interposed ai a great distance from 
the earth's surface have precisely the same 

effect. Thus cloudf effectually prevent the 
radiation of heat from the earth's surface!, 80 
that cloudy nights are always warmer than 
those; which are (dear ; and, in consequence, 

there is usually on such nights little or no 

deposition of dew. 

hoar roosT, 
From dew, there is an insensible transition 

to hoar frost j hoar frost being, in fact, only 
frozen dew, and indicative of greater Cola. 
Wo Observe, therefore, that frosty nights, 
life simply dewy nights, are generally still 
and clear. The influence 01 radiation in 

producing cold at the earth's surface, would 

scarcely be belli red byinattentive obi erven. 

Often, on a calm night, the temperature of a 

• plot is 10 or 15 degri et less than that 

of the air a few feet above it. Hence, as 

.Mr. Daniel has remarked, vegetables, in our 
climate, are, during ten months of the year, 

liable to he exposed at night to a freezing 
temperature; and even in duly and August, 

to a temperature only two 01 three deg 

warmer. Yet, notwithstanding these vicissi- 
tudes, in the words of the same gentleman, — 
"to vegetables growing in climates for which 
they are originally designed by nature, 
there can be no doubt that the action of M 



diation is particularly beneficial, from the 
deposition of moisture which it determines 
upon the foilage ; and it is only to tender 
plants artificially trained to resist the ri- 
gors of an unnatural situation, that this ex- 
tra degree of cold proves injurious." It may 
be observed, also, that trees of lofty growth 
frequently escape being injured by frost, 
when plants nearer the ground are quite de- 


Poetry is the language of the imagination and 
the passions. It relates to whatever gives imme- 
diate pleasure or pain to the human mind It 
comes home to the bosoms and businesses of 
men; for nothing but what so comes home to 
them in the most general and intelligible shape 
can be a subject for poetry. 

Poetry is the universal language which the 
heart holds with nature and itself. He who has 
a contempt for poetry cannot have much respect 
for himself, or for anything else. It is not a 
mere frivolous accomplishment (as some persons 
have been led to imagine), the trifling amusement 
of a few idle readers, or leisure hours— it has 
been the study and delight of mankind in all 
ages. Many people suppose that poetry is 
something to be found only in books, contained 
in lines of ten syllables, with like endings; but 
wherever there is a sense of beauty, or power, or 
harmony, as in the motion of a wave of the sea, 
in the growth of a flower that "spreads its sweet 
leaves to the air, and dedicates its beauty to the 
sun," — there is poetry, in its birth. 

Fear is poetry, hope is poetry, love is poetiy, 
hatred is poetry; contempt, jealousy, remorse, 
admiration, wonder, pity, despair, or madness, 
are all poetry. Poetry is that fine particle within 
us that expands, rarities, refines, raises our 
whole being; without it, " man's life is poor as 
beasts." Man is a poetical animal ; and those of 
us who do not study the principles of poetry, act 
upon them all our lives, like Moliere's Bourgeois 
Gentilhomme, who had always spoken prose with- 
out knowing it. 

The child is a poet, when he first plays at 
hide and -seek, or repeats the story of Jack the 
Giant-killer; the shepherd boy is a poet, when he 
first crowns his mistress with a garland of flow- 
ers ; the countryman, when he stops to look at 
the rainbow; the city-apprentice, when he goes 
after the Lord Mayor's show; the miser, when 
he hngs his gold; the courtier, who builds his 
hopes upon a smile ; the savage, who paints his 
idol with blood; the slave, who worships a tyrant, 
or the tyrant, who fancies himself a god; — the 
vain, the ambitions, the proud, the choleric man, 
the hero and, the coward, the beggar and 
the king, the rich and the poor, the young 
and the old — all live in a world of their own 
making; and the poet does no more than de- 
scribe what all others think and act. — Hazi.itt. 

Futurity. — Truly and beautifully has it been 
said, that the veil which covers futurity has been 
woven by the hand of mercy. 


We are now in the frequent receipt of Papers 
from America, and other foreign parts, containing 
extracts from Our Journal ; and we take this 
opportunity of thanking the senders. One of 
them, connected with the New York " Christian 
Advocate," has calLed our attention to an article 
in the last named paper, and wishes to see it 
transferred to Our Own. We give it a ready 
insertion. It is entitled the " Uniformity of 
Nature : " — 

The lark now carols the same song, and in the 
same key, as when Adam first turned his en- 
raptured ear to catch the moral. The owl first 
hooted in B flat ; it still loves the key, and screams 
through no other octaves. In the same key has 
ever ticked the death-watch ; while all the three 
noted chirps of the cricket have ever been in B 
since Tubal-Cain first heard them in his smithy, 
or the Israelites in their ash-ovens. 

Never has the buzz of the gnat risen above the 
second A ; nor that of the house-fly's wing sunk 
below the first F. Sound had at first the same 
connection with color as it has now, and the right 
angle of light's incidence might as easily produce 
a sound on the first turrets of Cain's city, as it 
is now said to do on one of the pyramids. The 
tulip, in its first bloom in Noah's garden, emitted 
heat, four and a half degrees above the atmos- 
phere, as it does at the present day. The stormy 
petrel as much delighted to sport amongst the first 
billows which the Indian Ocean ever raised, as it 
does now. 

In the first migration of birds, they passed from 
north to south, and fled over the narrowest part 
of the seas, as they will this autumn. The cuckoo 
and the nightingale first began their song together, 
analogous to the beginning of our April, in the 
days of Nimrod. Birds that lived on flies laid 
blueish eggs in the days of Joseph, as they will 
two thousand years hence — if the sun should not 
fall from his throne, or the earth not break her 
harness from the planetary car. The first bird 
that was caged, oftener sung in adagio than in 
the natural spirit. 

Corals have ever grown edgeways to the ocean 
stream. Eight millions, two hundred and eighty 
thousand anhxtalcuke, could as well live in a drop 
of water in the days of Seth as now. Flying 
insects had on their coats of mail in the days of 
Japheth ; over which they have ever waved plumes 
of more gaudy feathers than the peacock ever 
dropped. The bees that afforded Eve her first 
honey made their combs hexagonal ; and the first 
house-fly produced twenty millions, eighty-three 
hundred and twenty eggs, in one year, as she does 
at present. The first jump of the first flea was 
two hundred times its own length, as it was the 
last summer. 

There was iron enough in the blood of the first 
forty-two men to make a ploughshare, as there is 
to-day, from whatever country you collect them. 
The lungs of Abel contained a coil of vital matter 
one hundred and fifty-nine feet square, as mine ; 
and the first inspiration of Adam consumed seven- 
teen cubic inches of air, as do those of every adult 
reader. The cat and the robin followed the foot- 
steps of Noah, as they do ours. 




Having, Mr. Editor, prom time to 
time observed in " our own journal," 
enquiries from various correspondents as to 
the best mode of treating distemper in the 
dog — I have been induced to collect the 
following information (from one of the best 
authorities we have), both as to the nature 
of the disease, its symptoms, and the proper 
mode of treatment. Should you deem it 
worthy a place in " Our Journal," it may 
perhaps prove both useful and interesting to 
many of its Readers. 

Nature of the Disease. — The distemper 
is a disease of the mucous surfaces, and was 
imported from France about one hundred 
years since. The French veterinary surgeons 
called it " la maladie des chiens," — the dis- 
ease or distemper in Dogs. 

Dogs of all ages are subject to its attacks. 
Many, nine and ten years old, have died of 
pure distemper, as well as puppies of only 
three weeks ; but it most frequently appears 
between the sixth and twelfth month of the 
animal's life. It generally proves fatal when 
it occurs very early ; or when the dog is more 
than four years old. It is highly contagious, 
and yet it is frequently generated. 

However keepers, or even men of educa- 
tion may boast of their specifics, the disorder 
is sadly fatal, and destroys fully one-third of 
the canine race. One attack of the disease, 
and even a severe one, is no absolute security 
against its return, although it confers on the 
dog a certain degree of immunity ; or if he 
is attacked again, the disease is usually of a 
milder form. Youatt says, he has known it 
occur three times in the same animal, and at 
last destroy him. 

Violent catarrh will often end in distem- 
per ; and low and insufficient feeding will pro- 
tract it. It frequently follows mange ; — and 
whatever debilitates the constitution, predis- 
poses it for the reception of distemper. 

Inoculation used to be recommended as 
producing a milder and less fatal disease ; 
but by those most experienced, the contrary 
is now believed to be the result. Distemper 
is epidemic, and it occurs more frequently 
in the spring and autumn than in the sum- 
mer and winter. Sometimes it rages all 
over the country; at others it is endemie, 
and confined to some particular district. 
Not only is the disease itself epidemic and 
endemic, but the form which it assumes 
is so. In one season, almost every dog with 
distemper has violent fits ; at another, in the 
majority of cases, there will be considerable 
chest affection, running on to inflammation of 
the lungs. A few months afterwards, a great 
portion of the distempered dogs will be worn 
down by diarrhoea, which no medicine can 

arrest ; and presently it will scarcely be dis- 
tinguishable from mild catarrh. 

These facts shew us what a protean malady 
we have to grapple with, and how it is that 
remedies which are of the greatest service at 
one time, and in one case, may be perfectly 
useless at another. Consequently, that there 
can be no such thing as a specific for this 
disease; and I shall now show why many per- 
sons are apt to be deceived, and led to sup- 
pose that they possess a never-failing remedy. 
The disease varies much with different breeds. 
The Shepherd's Dog generally cares little 
about it. The Cur is not often seriously- 
affected. The Terrier has it more severely ; 
especially the white Terrier. The Hound 
comes next ; and after him, the Setter. With 
the small Spaniel it is more dangerous, and 
still more so with the Pointer. Next in order 
of fatality comes the Pug; and it is most fatal 
of all with the Newfoundland dog. Not only 
does it thus differ in different species of dogs, 
but in different breeds of 'the same species. "I 
have known," says Youatt, " several gentle- 
men who have labored in vain for many years, 
to rear particular and valuable breeds of 
Pointers and Greyhounds. The Distemper 
would uniformly carry off five out of six. 
Other sportsmen laugh at the supposed dan- 
ger of distemper, and declare that they sel- 
dom lose a dog. This hereditary disposition 
to certain kinds of disease cannot be denied, 
and is not sufficiently attended to. When a 
peculiar fatality has often followed a certain 
breed, the owner should cross it from another 
kennel ; and especially from the kennel of 
one who boasts of his success in the treat- 
ment of distemper. This has occasionally 
succeeded far beyond expectation." He con- 
tinues,—-" One thing is clear, — that for a dis- 
ease which assumes such a variety of forms, 
there can be no specific ; and yet there is not 
a keeper who is not in possession of some 
supposed infallible remedy. Nothing can be 
more absurd. The faith in these boasted 
specifics is principally founded on two cir- 
cumstances, — atmospheric influences, and pecu- 
liarity of breed. There are some seasons 
when we can scarcely save a dog. Thex*e are 
others, when we must almost wilfully destroy 
him in order to lose him ! There are some 
breeds in which, generation after generation, 
five out of six die of Distemper ; while there 
are others in which not one out of a dozen 

This I think is sufficiently explanatory. It 
is highly important to beware of confounding 
cases which would recover spontaneously, 
with those which are cured. 

Symptoms.— As may be supposed from 
what has been said of the nature of this dis- 
ease, there is no one symptom which will in- 
variably characterise it. To show what are 



the most frequent and most strongly marked, 
is all that can be done. 

Early symptoms are, gradual loss of appe- 
tite, spirits, and condition — the dog is less 
obedient to his master, and takes less notice 
of him. The eyes appear weak and -watery, 
and there is a slight limpid discharge from 
the nose. In the morning, there will per- 
haps be a slight indurated mucus at the 
corner of the eye. This state of things may 
continue two or three weeks, without the 
dog becoming seriously ill. Then a peculiar 
husky cough is heard — an apparent attempt 
to get something from the throat. The dis- 
charge from the eyes and nose will increase ; 
and the eyelids will be closed in the morn- 
ing. The conjunctiva (*. e. the membrane 
which lines the inside of the eyelids, and is 
reflected on to the globe of the eye), will 
be considerably injected, — not intensely red, 
but the vessels will be large, turgid, and fre- 
quently of a darkish hue. Occasionally, 
however, the membrane will be vividly red, 
and the eye impatient of light. Permanent 
blindness, however, is rarely the consequence 
of Distemper. 

At this stage of the disease, the dog will be 
evidently feverish. He will shiver and creep 
to the fire, and will more rapidly and evi- 
dently lose flesh. The discharge from the 
nose will become thicker, stick about the 
nostrils, plug them up and obstruct the breath- 
ing, and the huskiness will become more fre- 
quent and troublesome. The progress of the 
disease is now uncertain. Sometimes fits 
come on. One fit is serious, — if another oc- 
curs within a day or two, the chances of cure 
are diminished, and if they rapidly succeed 
each other, the dog is almost always lost. 
Fits seldom appear without a warning ; and 
if watched for, -they may possibly be pre- 
vented. Though the dog may previously 
have lost his appetite, it returns when the 
fits are at hand, and he becomes absolutely 
voracious. Nearly all the mucus disap- 
pears from the eyes ; and for an hour or 
more before the fit, there is a champing of 
the lower jaw, frothing at the mouth, and 
discharge of saliva. The champing of the 
jaw is seen twelve hours before the first 
fit, and a little while before every other. 
There are also usually twitchingsof the mouth, 
cheek, or eyelid. The inflammation of the mem- 
brane of the nose and fauces, sometimes extends 
along that of the windpipe ; and the dog ex- 
hibits decided symptoms of inflammation of 
the lungs. At other times the bowels become 
affected, and a violent purging comes on. 
When mingled blood and mucus appear, the 
case is almost hopeless. While the discharge 
from the nose remains white, and free from 
smell, and the animal is not so much ema- 
ciated, the termination may be favorable; 

but when it becomes dark, bloody, and of- 
fensive, death will ensue. 

The duration of distemper is uncertain. It 
may run its course in five or six days ; or it 
may linger on two or three months. When 
the emaciation is rapid, extreme, and continu- 
ous, the dog will die, — but let him gain flesh, 
even though the purging be violent, and the 
discharge from the nose copious, and we may 
nevertheless confidentally predict his re- 
covery. In the Pointer, Hound, and Grey- 
hound, there sometimes appears in the whole 
of the chest and belly a pustular eruption, 
which peels off in large scales. The result 
is usually unfavorable. In these dogs, an 
intense yellowness often suddenly appears 
all over them. They fall away more in 
twenty-fours than would be thought possible ; 
their bowels being obstinately constipated. 
They will neither eat nor move ; and in two 
or three days death closes their eyes for 

Treatment. — In Distemper in any form, 
an emetic is the first thing to be given. 
Common salt will do, when nothing else is at 
hand ; but the best emetic consists of equal 
parts of calomel and tartar emetic, from half 
a grain to one grain and a half of each for a 
dose. Place it upon the back of the tongue. 
Then, if the cough is urgent, and there is 
heaving at the flanks, and the nose is hot, 
take a moderate quantity of blood, (from 
three to twelve ounces) ; and if there has 
been previous constipation, follow this up 
with from two to six drachms of Epsom 

In slight cases this will often cure ; but if 
the dog still droops, and there is much hus- 
kiness, take from half a grain to one grain 
" digitalis powder," from two to five grains 
" James's Powder ;" and from twenty to sixty 
grains of " nitre." Let this be made into a 
ball, with a little palm oil and linseed meal ; 
and give one such twice or three times daily. 
(The dose must be proportioned to the size 
of the animal.) If on the third or fourth day 
the huskiness is not quite removed, repeat 
the emetic. 

Worms are frequently a considerable source 
of irritation in young dogs. If speedily got 
rid of, Distemper will often rapidly disap- 
pear ; but if suffered to remain, diarrhoea or 
fits are apt to supervene. From thirty to 
GO grains of powdered glass should be added 
to each ball, as above. 

Should the huskiness still continue, and 
with fever, it is now, if ever, that inflamma- 
tion of the lungs will be perceived. The 
quick and laborious breathing, inability to lie 
down, elevated position of the head, and pro- 
jected muzzle, will clearly mark it. More 
blood must be taken. The bowels must be 
opened w r ith Epsom salts ; and the digitalis, 



nitre, and James's powder given more fre- 
quently, and in larger doses than before. The 
pulse of the dog may be felt at the side. If 
the digitalis produces an intermittent pulse, 
which it should do, it should be given more 
cautiously, and in smaller quantities. 

If the inflammation is conquered, or it 
should happen that there is none of any mo- 
ment, and the huskiness still continues; if 
the discharge from the nose increases, and 
the animal loses flesh, and is becoming weak, 
— the treatment must be changed. Half the 
quantity only of the sedative and diuretic 
medicine must be given, and some tonic, as 
gentian, from ten to twenty grains ; and gin- 
ger from five to ten grains, for a dose ; be 
added. An emetic must be given occasion- 
ally, and the bowels must be kept open, but 
not purged. The dog must be urged to eat ; 
and if he obstinately refuse, he must be forced 
with strong beef-jelly. If, notwithstanding 
this, the strength of the animal continues to 
decline, and the discharge from the nose be- 
comes purulent and offensive, the fever medi- 
cine must be omitted, and the tonic balls, with 
from thirty to sixty grains of carbonate of 
iron in each, be given. If the dog begins to 
recover, the tonic balls may be continued 
without the iron ; giving now and then an 
emetic if the huskiness threatens to return. 
Wholesome food and good country air, how- 
ever, are the best tonics. 

When the discharge from the nose is very 
offensive, the lips swelled and ulcerated, and 
the breath foetid, half an ounce of yeast may 
be given every noon, and the tonics morning 
and night. The mouth should be often washed 
with a solution of the chloride of lime. When 
fits appear early, give a strong emetic. Then 
bleed, and open the bowels with five or six 
grains of calomel, and a quarter of a grain of 
opium, and commence the tonic balls. If 
they occur at a later period, all that can be 
done is to give a strong emetic ; open the 
bowels with castor oil ; and give the tonic 
balls, with a quarter of a grain of opium in 

In the treatment of the yellow disease, we 
shall seldom succeed. One large bleeding, 
opening the bowels with Epsom salts, and 
then giving one-grain doses of calomel twice 
daily in a tonic ball, sometimes produces a 
good effect. 

Let it be remembered, that while costive- 
ness must be obviated, there is nothing more 
to be dreaded in every stage of Distemper 
than Diarrhcea. The purging of Distemper 
will often bid defiance to the most powerful 
astringent medicines. This shows the folly 
of giving (as is often done) violent cathartics 
in Distemper. It is of the utmost con- 
sequence that, when purging arises, it should 
be speedily checked. First, give a good 
dose of Epsom salts, then twenty grains 

of chalk, ten grains of catechu, five grains of 
ginger, and a quarter of a grain of opium, — 
made into a ball with palm oil ; and this, for 
a middle sized clog, twice a-day. 

When the " Twitchings" appear, a seton is 
necessary, and some stimulating embroca- 
tion, — such as the tincture of cantharides, — 
may be rubbed along the whole course of 
the spine. Castor oil, syrup of buckthorn, 
and syrup of poppies, (in the proportion of 
three parts of the first, two of the second, and 
one of the last,) should be given morning 
and night, and a tonic ball at noon ; but 
if the spasms spread over the animal, accom- 
panied by a moaning, that increases to a cry, 
humanity demands that we should put an end 
to that which cannot be cured. 

In the treatment of Chorea, (St. Vitus's 
dance) which is an occasional sequel of Dis- 
temper, a seton is the first thing. The 
bowels should be kept moderately open, and 
the nitrate of silver, (in doses of one-eighth 
of a grain, increased to one quarter of a grain, 
and made into a pill, with linseed meal) 
should be given morning and night. 

Herein is comprised the best method of 
treatment for that fatal disease, — Distemper. 

All your correspondents will doubtless 
be glad to hear of a medicine which is 
often successful in Chorea. Youatt says,— 
" nitrate of silver will be the sheet-anchor 
of the practitioner in this disease ; and if 
used early, will seldom deceive him." We 
must never make too sure of the recovery of 
a distempered dog. It is a treacherous 
disease, and the medicines should be con- 
tinued for a month at least after every symp- 
tom has disappeared. Palsy is sometimes 
the termination of Distemper, — it is usually 
accompanied by Chorea ; and is then, in the 
majority of cases, hopeless. 




This being the time of year when most 
birds are silent, or partially so, from the 
cold, we propose to introduce to our readers' 
notice such of the choristers as usually take 
the earliest part in the harmony of the 
season. Every successive week will now be 
telling of something new, something de- 

We are just entering upon a month, in 
which there is little observable, day by day, 

* Under this head (See our First and Second 
Volumes) , all our most popular Birds of Song are 
being treated of in turn. There has been a very 
great demand for the separate Treatises ; but it is 
not our present intention to publish them otherwise 
than in the columns of Our Own Journal. — 
Ed. K. J. 



towards the return of spring. Yet do we 
alreadv mark among the thrushes and the 
blackbirds an increased activity ; and certain 
peculiarities in their approaches towards 
each other, and in their "delicate attentions," 
which convince us they will all " mate " at 
a very early day. 

We were busy musing at the remote end 
of our garden, a few days since, immediately 
under the shade of some lofty firs — and in the 
close proximity of the holly and the laurel, 
when some " well-known sounds " saluted 
our ear, which we recognised as the notes 
of dalliance. Several pairs of thrushes and 
several pairs of blackbirds were busily 
agitating the brushwood, and flitting rest- 
lessly along the whole length of a holly- 
hedge ; pursuing each other, as these birds do, 
even at this early season of the year. All 
this gives the note of preparation for early 

We have observed, too, certain incipient 
signs of approaching familiarity between 
cock-robin and his intended associate. The 
courtship of these birds is completely sui 
generis. They meet en avarice, and as quickly 
retire en derriere; repeating these preparatory 
interviews from morning till night. They 
then separate altogether. They go through 
the same observances on the morrow, and 
the day following ; and when their flirtations 
are completely over, the " proposal " is made, 
the " offer " considered, and the happy red- 
breast made a worthy husband for the 
season. His trammels are then thrown off — 
a divorce is mutually agreed upon, and both 
parties once more retire to ". Liberty Hall." 
We note these little episodes as we go on ; 
for the innocence of birds, and their winning 
ways, cannot be too closely scrutinised and 

The robins and the blackbirds are among 
the very first of the feathered tribe to bestir 
themselves for the provision of a family. 
Ere the trees have any clothing, you may 
see, in a private garden, nidification com- 
mencing at the very beginning of February. 

The blackbird of last year arrives at 
maturity in the following spring ; assuming, 
with the change of season, a jet-black, glossy 
livery, and a bill as yellow as gold. The 
orbs of the eye, too, become bright yellow ; 
and the whole figure bold and dauntless. 
The hen is of a dusky, dark brown color, 
and her eyes less brilliant than those of the 

The instinct of the blackbird is by no 
means remarkable. There are very few birds 
indeed so palpably obtuse ; for they build 
their nests in situations which, for the most 
part, expose them to certain robbery by idle 
boys and iron-hearted men. Hence the 
quantities of young birds exposed for sale 
at the commencement of March. We would 

remark, en passant, that as this bird is very 
prolific, it is just possible Nature might have 
given it a limited instinct, with a view to an 
excess of numbers being thereby prevented. 
It is quite certain, that if these birds were 
not thinned in some way, their race would 
multiply to an alarming extent. They suffer 
greatly during the winter by the " rough 
practice " of the " cockney sportsman," who 
contrives to wound many hundreds, whilst 
perhaps he kills only one ; and that, by the 
merest accident. 

With all the slaughter, however, dealt out 
amongst them during the winter months, we 
always find plenty of survivors left to greet 
us from the top of the highest tree, at the 
earliest dawn of spring. We can already 
number in our own immediate precincts at 
least a dozen ; and twice that number of 
thrushes — with wrens, robins, and tit mice, 
ad libitum. Sacred is our rural dwelling to 
the happiness and perfect enjoyment of these 
melodious rogues. Secure from pursuit, 
snug in the bosom of their affectionate 
families, and in the midst of plenty, with us 
all the feathered tribes are in safeguard. 
Woe be to him who levels a hollow tube, 
" big with mischief," at any of the settlers 
on our ground, who come to share the rites 
of our hospitality — we mean if we should 
catch him in the act ! Once or twice lately, 
we have heard a neighbor's gun in active 
"discharge" of its enjoined duties; but we 
trust that, after this " notice," it will be put 
by for the season. " Cruelty " is indefensible 
under any plea. 

Whilst the blackbird is busily rehearsing 
his vernal songs, just let us take a " peep " 
at the construction of his nest. The materials 
used are — fibrous roots, green moss, and 
similar matters ; the inside being plastered, 
or cased, with damp mould, and subsequently 
lined with dry grass. The site chosen is 
sometimes a thick bush, sometimes a laurel, 
and occasionally it is placed on the side of a 
bank. The number of eggs laid seldom 
exceeds five. These are covered with brown 
spots at the larger end. The period of in- 
cubation is fourteen days. 

Whilst we now write, the blackbirds in 
our immediate neighborhood are full of life 
and energy ; and we can ever and anon catch 
the harmony (still low) of then.' sweet voices. 
Their love is already declared, their suit has 
been pressed, their " acceptance" made sure, 
their " happiness " perfected. With such a 
mutual compact formed — how faithfully and 
religiously will it be kept ! We may speedily 
expect the vernal melody to commence in 

There is much diversity of opinion about 
the cause of birds singing. Why there should 
be more than one opinion, we know not. 
Birds sing, as we sing — because they are 



happy. We never " sing," surely, -when our 
mind is ill at ease ! Some may ; but we do 
not. In this, truly, we " measure our 
neighbor's corn in our own bushel.'' 

The late Macgillivray, a writer with 
whom we are by no means altogether pleased 
(for he recommends the indiscriminate and 
murderous slaughter, on certain ocaasions, 
of our small harmless choristers), has drawn 
a pretty and correct sketch of the blackbird. 
He has regarded him in the light of a happy 
parent in esse, or in expectancy ; for he sings 
in both cases equally well. A right joyous 
fellow is he ; we love him dearly. But now 
for a poetical description of his abandon to 
the inspiration of his muse. 

" It is not," remarks Macgillivray, " in 
the wild valley, flanked with birchen slopes, 
and stretching far away among the craggy 
hills, that the music of the blackbird floats 
upon the evening breeze. There you may 
listen, delighted to the gentle song of the 
mavis ; but here, in this plain, covered with 
corn-fields and skirted with gardens, sit thee 
down on the green turf by the gliding brook, 
and mark the little black speck, stuck, as it 
were, upon the top twig of that tall poplar. 
It is a blackbird ; for now the sweet strain, 
loud, but mellowed by distance, comes upon 
the ear, inspiring pleasant thoughts, and 
banishing care and sorrow. The bird has 
evidently learned his part by long practice, 
for he sits sedately and in full consciousness 
of superiority. 

" Ceasing at intervals, he renews the 
straiD ; varying it so that, although you can 
trace an occasional repetition of notes, the 
staves are never precisely the same. You 
may sit an hour, or longer, and yet the song 
will be continued ; and in the neighboring 
gardens, many rival songsters will sometimes 
raise their voices at once, or delight you 
with alternate strains. 

" And now what is the purpose of all this 
melody ? We can only conjecture that it is 
the expression of the perfect happiness which 
the creature is enjoying, when, uncarked by 
care, conscious of security, and aware of the 
presence of his mate, he instinctively pours 
forth his soul in joy, and gratitude, and love. 
He does not sing to amuse his mate, as many 
have supposed — for he often sings in winter, 
when he is not yet mated ; nor does he sing 
to beguile his solitude, for now he is not 
solitary ; but he sings because all his wants 
are satisfied, his whole frame glowing with 
health, and because his Maker has gifted 
him with the power of uttering sweet 

There are very few of us, indeed, who know 
how to enjoy the charms of a country life, 
that can help anticipating the vernal treats 
so ready to burst upon us at an early day. 
Nor do we envy those who — 

"In populous cities pent," 

can say they are happy, and want for no- 
thing. Smoke and dirt, dust and noise, 
barter and anxiety, speculation and uneasi- 
ness, may sit easily on some shoulders. We 
have known much of such " enjoyments " 
ourself ; but now — books and flowers, birds 
and pure air, are the only solace in which we 
care to take refuge. If ever happiness may 
be lawfully sought, it is in the fields or 
gardens, on a fine morning in spring. There 
we listen to our hero singing his early matins, 
and we exclaim with one of our modern 
poets — Adams — 

Methinks, methinks, a happy life is thine, 
Bird of the jetty wing and golden bill ! 

Up in the clear fresh morning's dewy shine 
Art thou, and singing at thine own sweet will : 
Thy mellow voice floats over vale and hill, 

Rich and mellifluous to the ear as wine 

Unto the taste ; at noon we hear thee still ; 

And when grey shadows tell of Sol's decline. 

Thou hast thy matin and thy vesper song, 
Thou hast thy noontide canticle of praise, 

For Him who fashioned thee to dwell among 
The orchard-grounds, and 'mid the pleasant 

Where blooming hedge-rows screen the rustic 
throng : 

Thy life's a ceaseless prayer, thy days all Sab- 
bath days. 

We have already spoken of the small 
modicum of " instinct " inherent in the black- 
bird. When we were boys, we used (boy- 
like, naturally " cruel ! ") to " draw " the 
nests of these birds. When we found four 
eggs, we removed three. To the odd one, 
the poor hen blackbird would lay another. 
This we again removed, and so on for a 
number of days; until, Nature exhausted, the 
ill-fated bird would die on its nest ! Oh that 
we could write with a pen of iron, on the 
heart of every thoughtless youngster, the 
wickedness, the cruelty of such a wanton 
act ! How often have we shuddered whilst 
contemplating these indefensible acts of ours 
in early childhood ! We record it with 
shame, hoping that it will fall with a salutary 
effect on the conscience of others, who may 
even now be contemplating some similar act 
of early spoliation. We need hardly add, 
that most birds, w r hen they find their locus in 
quo is discovered, immediately decamp to 
other quarters, The genus " school-boy " 
liketh them not. 

In our next, we will go into matters of 
detail with respect to the proper treatment 
of a blackbird, — or at least the best mode 
of treatment for " a bird in confinement." It 
is a sad " duty" indeed to perform! 

Whilst viewing this noble, happy fellow 
in the country — and listening to his mellow, 
joyous song from the top of a lofty tree, we 
feel we could write " up" to him with spirit ; 
but as we shall have to treat of him as a 



prisoner immured in a dungeon, we shall also, 
malheureusment, have to write " down" to 
him. It is, however, a self-imposed task, 
and we shall not shrink from it. We shall, 
assuredly, plead hard for him ; and entreat 
that his life may be made as happy as it can 
be under existing circumstances. 

Ere yet another fortnight shall have gone 
over our heads, we shall behold a wondrous 
change in the voices of the blackbird and 
the thrush. They rally wonderfully as the 
season for breeding approaches ; and, while 
his cava sposa is sitting sedulously on her 
nest — fondly anticipating the result of her 
onerous task, loud and melodious falls the 
note upon our ear of her " only love !" 
Seated aloft, he seems to look down upon 
all that are beneath him with a feeling of 
pity, giving utterance to songs of melody 
that liberty could alone inspire : — 

Oh ! blackbird, sing me something well ; 
While all my neighbors shoot thee round, 
/keep smooth plots of fruitful ground, 
Where thou may'st warble, eat, and dwell. 

So sings Tennyson ; and we echo his 

No. VI. 

[Continued from Vol. II, page 404.) 

Building a house is tedious work. Day 
after day the operations go on, but with little 
or no present visible progress. Still, every- 
thing must have a beginning ; and no house 
can be properly erected without first laying 
a foundation. Thus have we acted in the 
treatment of our subject — bearing in lively re- 
membrance the notable remark of Mrs. Glass, 
of immortal memory, than whom we wish no 
brighter nor better example to imitate. 

If we have, perchance, been dry, prolix, 
and precise in our matter-of-fact directions, 
it has been with the single view of paving 
the way for the better enjoyment, hereafter, 
of the work of our hands. The benefit deri- 
vable from an attentive perusal of apparently 
minor matters of detail, will soon become 
evident, nor is the "marrow" of our subject 
even now far distant. 

We come now, paripassu, to the discussion 
of " How to store an aviary." This is a 
matter which requires no little judgment ; 
for if birds, by nature quarrelsome, were ad- 
mitted indiscriminately to congregate under 
one roof, the result would be anarchy, con- 
fusion, —bloodshed. The names of the prin- 
cipal intended " settlers, " may be given as 
follows: — Aberdevines, bullfinches, chaffin- 
ches, canaries, goldfinches, linnets, redpoles, 
twites, yellow-hammers. The foregoing are 
hard billed, granivorous, or seed birds. 

The soft-billed, or insectivorous birds, are 
— thrushes, blackcaps, arbour-birds, cole-tits, 
blue ( or Tom ) tits, marsh- tits, garden-war- 
blers, hedge-sparrows, nightingales, redstarts, 
reed-sparrows, stonechats, whinchats, titlarks 
woodlarks (no sky larks must be admitted), 
whitethroats, wagtails. 

From the above list, it will be seen that 
blackbirds, the ox-eye, robin, and wren, are 
excluded. The three first are quite inadmis- 
sible, — blackbirds being spiteful and mali- 
cious ; ox-eyes, or joe-bents, murderous assas- 
sins. * The latter often feel an inclination 
to look too closely into the phrenological 
development of their neighbor's head. 
There could be no reasonable objection to 
this, if it were done from a laudable curiosity, 
and " in a regular way. " But their invari- 
able modus operandi is, — first to split the 
skull of their " subject" ( a-Z«-woodpecker 
" tapping"); then to examine its contents ; and 
finally, to devour it greedily. This remark- 
able operation, frequently repeated, would, 
we hardly need say, soon depopulate the 

The robin, or redbreast, must be regarded 
altogether as an alien — such is the ferocity 
of his natural disposition. Who would credit 
this, when viewing him seated aloft, on the 
highest twig of yonder tall tree ; every nerve 
visibly agitated, and his little throat widely 
distended; while, in the joyousness ofhis nature 
he is pouring forth the "most eloquent music ?" 
Does he not look a perfect paragon of harm- 
lessness, virtue, and innocence ? 

Such is he not. In him may be traced 
the unerring principle of Nature. Every spe- 
cimen of his tribe — in this " rule " there are 
NO " exceptions" — is invariably alike in dis- 
position ; tyrannical, despotic, jealous, sangui- 
narily cruel. When noticing the "habits" 
of this bird, under its proper head, we shall 
have much that is interesting to dwell upon 
— much to record that we have never heard 
of, nor seen noticed by naturalists. AVe 
dearly love the rogue, aye, dearly ; but, as a 
faithful historian, we dare not give him " a 
false character." 

The wren is excluded, because he is a very 
tender, delicate bird, in confinement ; impa- 
tient, also, of the constant bustle and excite- 
ment inseparable from an aviary. If any of 
this tribe be admitted, let it be two or three 
willow wrens. They are an exquisitely-formed 
bird ; minutely small, and the most lively of 
their race. The excess of numbers should be 
in favor of goldfinches, linnets, canaries, red- 
poles, and bullfinches. These birds are 

* There is only one phrenological organ in the 
head of an ox-eye. It is the organ of " murder. " 
Thus is he predestinated to fulfil his deadly mission, 
and thus is the truth of the " science " triumph- 
antly confirmed. 



" showy " as well as sprightly, and are scarcely 
ever " mopish " in an aviary. Thus do they, 
by their activity and playfulness, keep the 
inmates in a constant state of jollity. 

As many persons will have particular taste9 
of their own to gratify, and prefer some birds 
before others, our hints as to numbers and 
selections, are, of course, merely suggestive — 
not arbitrary. 

It would be advisable to have not fewer than 
four aberdevines, four chaffinches, four twites, 
and four yellow-hammers. One thrush will 
be sufficient, and he must be put in when a 
young nestling. After the first or second 
year, these birds get spiteful ; and they then 
commit awful havoc among the small fry, 
despatching them with a coup de bouche ; 
still, however, they sing so well, and pipe so 
melodiously, that one is worth the venture. 

We would not recommend more than one 
or two choice specimens of the black-cap, 
and two or three cole-tits, blue-tits, and 
marsh-tits ; two garden-warblers, three hedge- 
sparrows, one nightingale, three redstarts, 
three reed - sparrows, two stonechats, two 
whinchats, two titlarks, two woodlarks, two 
larger and two lesser white-throats, and one 
pah* of wagtails, grey or yellow. 

With the single exception of the last-named 
pair of wagtails, we recommend no hen birds 
whatever being introduced. With animals, 
as with the human race, a strict sense of pro- 
priety and moral rectitude must be observed ; 
all conventional forms must be respected ; and 
a Codex morum established, from which there 
can be " no appeal." 

Dame Nature has been singularly cruel, 
arbitrary, and over-exact, in her organisation 
of the female character ; but perhaps she has 
some good latent reason for it, into which it 
is not lawful for us mortals to pry. All we 
can say about it is — we cannot see it. It cer- 
tainly does seem deplorably " odd," that when 
some two, three, or more of the gentle sex 
are met together, they can never be long in 
each others' company without there being a 
" row." A — hem ! Just so was it with our 
colony. We thoughtlessly left the ladies and 
gentlemen together, and a " row " was the 
consequence ; nay more, the results were 
^ awful." There were, day after day, flirta- 
tions, assignations, and elopements, of course ; 
followed (also of course) by alienations of 
affection, heart-rendings, jealousies, duels, 
assassinations, bloodshed, murder. Good fun 
was it, however, if we may be allowed to jest 
on so " serious " a subject, to observe with 
what perfect abandon some of the " miserable 
offenders " would give themselves up to the 
honied voices and insinuating eloquence of 
their spruce betrayers. Oh, how sinfully 
" wicked " they did look at their less-favored 
and disappointed rivals ! It was better than any 

Being a man of rigidly -moral principles, 
we were not long in perceiving our error ; 
and, when perceived, in rectifying it. Every 
" lady " bird — causa teterrima belli — was with- 
drawn ; lovers' vows were frustrated ;* and 
the gentlemen-vocalists left alone in their 

Of the soft-billed birds last particularised 
we must observe, that a close eye should be 
kept on the blue-tits and the hedge-sparrows. 
The former are habitually spiteful, if they 
cannot get an abundant supply of their most 
favorite food. Under such circumstances 
they will, sometimes, like our friend the ox- 
eye, take a too close survey of their neighbor's 
head, break it open sans ceremonie, and 
swallow its contents ! 

The hedge-sparrow, although an object of 
just suspicion, is not uniformly quarrelsome. 
If, therefore, you observe in them no dispo- 
sition to fight, you may give them the entree. 
They are a sprightly bird, of a good pre- 
sence, and have a rich mellow song. 

The water-wagtail is another ferocious 
bird — first cousin in disposition to a robin. 
Two, therefore, of the male sex can never 
agree under any circumstances. If asso- 
ciated, one would speedily become disposed 
of. Try only one pair. They are beautiful 
showy birds, and will run round the margin 
of the fountain with untiring activity. Being 
in their movements like the titlark, the con- 
stant vibration of their tails, and the bend of 
their graceful forms, become objects for 
unceasing admiration. They will nearly 
always be in, or on the fountain — water being 
their delight. 

The nightingale being a bird of truly sin- 
gular habits, we have suggested the propriety 
of admitting one only. If there were more, 
the chances are that none of them would 
sing. This bird never allows himself to be 
surpassed or outdone in song. If therefore 
his fellow sing louder than he, and more joy- 
ously, from that moment he would become 
dumb, mopish, and sulky. Alone, he will 
perhaps " awaken the groves " with his voice. 
The other " warblers " we need not here com- 
ment upon. We shall have " lots " to say of 
them at a proper season. 

By the way, it may not be irrelevant to 
call attention at this time to the " blue-tit," 
already noticed. He is a most diverting 
little creature. Our readers will find, as we 
did, that whenever the thrush picks out any 
choice morsel of food from the pan on the 
floor, and flies upwards with it, Master Tom 
will cling closely round the thrush's neck, 
allow himself to soar upwards with him in 
flight, and finally force, by " high pressure " 
from his mouth, the said choice morsel of 

* "The course of true love never did run 
smooth." — Old Proverb. 



food ! Master Tom has an infinite variety of 
these tricks ; and as we " owe him one," for 
many hours of by-gone entertainment, we 
now'discharge our obligation. 

The next question is,— how, when, and 
where, to procure your birds for the aviary. 
The best seasons for the hard-billed birds, 
are April and September. They are then in 
what is termed " Flight." During these 
months, they congregate in vast numbers; 
and are trapped by the bird-catchers, 
and sold at very low prices by the London 
dealers. Great St. Andrew- street, Holborn, 
and the neighborhood of the Seven Dials, 
are the grand depositories for the feathered 

The soft-billed birds of passage arrive 
about the 10th of April, and may be pur- 
chased in the same localities. They should 
be procured a week or so after they are 
trapped, or as soon as they are what is 
termed " fed off,"— that is, able to feed them- 
selves in confinement on the change of food 
provided for them. Many are sulky when 
caught, refuse every temptation to eat, and 
die before they can be " fed off." 

How to select your birds, and discriminate 
the males from the females, we will explain 
under their classified heads. We will also 
give early consideration to the proper food 
to be placed in the aviary ; and show how 
to adapt it to the peculiar appetites of each 
of the inmates. 

With us, latterly, a death in the family was 
the exception, not the rule: our birds all 
li ve d_till the rats deprived us of them — to 
a " green old age." We loved them while 
they lived— oh, how fondly! Now, nil nisi 
flere et meminisse relictum est. — We can but 
think of them, and bewail their irreparable 



The "Naturalist" for the new year, again 
comes before U6 with fresh claims on our 
regard, and brings under our observation 
some very interesting facts. 

Many of them, from their length, are not 
suitable for us to extract. We therefore 
subjoin three of the shorter communications, 
by way of confirming our remarks. The 
first, by Thomas Nichol, Esq., of Dunbar, 
refers to Marine Polypes. Mr. N. says : — 

Great numbers of Marine Polypes are to be 
found in Dunbar; their habitat being chiefly 
on rocky ground between high and low-water- 
mark. I kept one of them for nearly two years, 
and several others for shorter periods, in basins of 
salt water ; of course renewing it at intervals of 
two or three days. Believing that they must 

have some more substantial nourishment than the 
anirualculre contained in the water, I tried if 
they would use various kinds of food which I 
thought might be suitable for them. Whelks, 
Mussels, and Limpets were what I chiefly offered 
them. If the object was dropped near the Polype, 
it was invariably seized with its tentacula, and 
conveyed to its mouth. I have seen a shell 
nearly as largo as the animal itself thus swal- 
lowed, distending the body all round. 

The Polype has the power of locomotion ; for, 
although I never saw any of them in the act of 
moving, I have frequently found them at a dif- 
ferent side of the basin from that at which I left 
them. But perhaps the most interesting circum- 
stance connected with them was, that some of 
them propagated while in my possession. I had 
at one time from twenty to twenty-five young ones 
alive, and probably twice as many gemmules were 
thrown off in the course of one summer from three 
individuals. I never saw the gemmules separate 
themselves from the parent, though I frequently 
watched for it. Some of the young lived for 
several weeks, if not months, under my care, and 
grew considerably in that time ; bxit most of them 
died early, which led me to suppose that the side 
of a basin was not a suitable place for their 

It is stated in books on Natural History, that 
these animals may be cut into a great many parts, 
and that each part will immediately become a 
complete animal, and live and act as if nothing 
had happened to it. To test the correctness of 
this statement, I cut some of mine into several 
pieces ; they seemed to be little affected by the 
operation, and each part continued to live as a 
distinct individual. Some of these I kept for a 
considerable time ; but I felt satisfied they did 
not thrive so well or look so healthy as the Polypes 
that had not been so divided. 

I find I have still in my possession a few notes 
of observations I made on three varieties of these 
creatures, the substance of which I shall tran- 

1847, March 6th. — Received three large 
Polypes this morning, and placed them in basins 
of salt water. 

No. 1, the largest, is covered by a sac or 
mantle, finely streaked with red stripes ; the pre- 
vailing color of the sac is dull grey, and it is 
covered with small transparent pimples about the 
size of pins', heads ; probably they contain water. 
When placed in clean salt water, the sac is 
gradually withdrawn, and the animal ajipears a 
flattish circular body, of considerable diameter, 
having the entire circumference guarded by the 
outstretched tentacula, as by a forest of tiny 
spears. Inside of this is a considerable space 
perfectly smooth, the color beautifully variegated 
with different shadings of red, and in the centre 
is the orifice, or mouth. This opening assumes a 
great variety of forms and appearances, the 
beauty and delicacy of which can only be pro- 
perly appreciated when seen in the living animal. 
Sometimes the lips rise a little above the surface, 
and curve elegantly over into the cavity. Their 
inner surface is generally of a white or cream 
color, and capable of great distension, as indeed 
the whole Polype is. The body is soft, yields 
easily to the touch, and exhibits a good deal oi 

sensitiveness. The tentacula have considerable 
elasticity ; they will seize the finger firmly, 
stretching considerably before they let go their 
hold ; they likewise bend readily round any object 
placed within their reach, and carry it towards 
the mouth ; in such cases, however, only the 
tentacula near the object seem to engage them- 
selves ; those at a little distance seem no way 
cognisant of what is going on. That the creature 
may spread to its full extent, it seems to gorge 
itself with water ; perhaps it manages thus to 
seize any animalcule, or other matter, the water 
may contain suitable for its nourishment. When 
it folds itself up, it ejects a considerable quantity 
of water, and it then presents an appearance 
something like a large orange striped longitudi- 
nally, and firmly fixed by one end. 

No. 2 is reddish in color, not striped, but other- 
wise of a similar structure and ^arrangement to 
No. 1. 

No. 3 : the mantle is all but entirely white, 
which is likewise the prevailing color of the 
body and tentacula, while they are beautifully 
tinted with red. The disc within the tentacula 
is transparent ; in other respects, it resembles the 
two former. 

9th. — Changed the water, and gave each of 
the Polypes a small piece of fish, which has been 
taken within the mantle, and probably into the 

13th. — Gave each small pieces of fish and Cod 
liver, and also pieces of the rays or arms of star- 
fishes, which have all been taken into the 
stomach, and apparently digested. Later in the 
day, No. 3 disgorged two pieces of fish, which do 
not seem to have been in any way affected by 
their residence in its stomach. A little yellow 
gelatinous matter was also thrown up along with 

Nos. 2 and 3 seem shy of displaying their 
tentacula during the day ; but I have frequently 
found them finely displayed after dark. It is 
difficult to count the number of tentacula ; but 
they are probably from one hundred and twenty 
to one hundred and fifty. They seem to seize 
everything that comes within their reach, and 
convey it to their mouth ; but in doing so they 
exhibit no activity ; the object is brought slowly 
forward, and slowly engulfed or rejected. The 
mouth opens towards the object, and enlarges 
itself to the size necessary for its reception. 

I have lately read some numbers of Dr. John- 
ston's work on Zoophites, and am inclined to think, 
from the descriptions there given, the species I 
possess are referable to Actinia coriacea. 

16th. — Changed the water to-day, of which each 
was very full, and when laid on a dry place gave 
it out very freely ; indeed they seemed incapable 
of retaining, for it spouted forth from the mouth, 
the tentacula, and even through the pores, which 
seemed to open in the mantle. No. 1 disgorged 
with the water some pieces of Star-fish, which 
had been in its stomach for some clays ; they did 
not seem much altered, but a small piece which 
has since been thrown out, seems to consist of the 
harder parts only. No. 2 also disgorged a piece 
of Star-fish to day ; it was half out when observed, 
and on being touched came very easily away. 

19th. — The pieces offish and Star-fish which I 
have from time to time given the Polypes appear 

to have been disgorged. I cannot say whether or 
not the animals have been nourished by them : I 
rather think not. Nos. 2 and 3 have repeatedly 
ejected Limpets, which they had previously swal- 
lowed, both in the shell and out of it. No. 1 has 
taken them frequently into its stomach ; it throws 
up the shell clean in a day or two. The animal 
of the Limpet is also ejected, but it seems to have 
undergone some change, as it is thrown out in 
pieces. I offered a dead Limpet in the shell to it 
the other day, but it showed an immediate dis- 
position to get rid of it, and by lowering its 
tentacula, allowed it to drop to the bottom of the 

27th. — For the last week the Polypes have 
appeared to be much in the same state as formerly, 
except that No. 1 looks scarcely so healthy. I 
have given them, occasionally, pieces of fish and 
Cod liver. The former has generally, if not 
always, been disgorged ; I am not sure if the latter 
has. No. 3 has been for the most part fully ex- 
panded lately, and a singularly beautiful object it is 
when in this state. On several occasions lately I 
have found Nos. 2 and 3 firmly attached to the 
sides of the basin in which they were kept, the 
means of attachment being small points which are 
protruded from the skin . As No. 1 appears sickly, 
I have taken it and put it into a pool between high 
and low-water-mark, wishing to see whether it 
will make its habitat there, and recover. 

April 1st. — I have repeatedly examined the 
pool for No. 1, but find it is not there ; whether it 
has floated or been washed away I cannot tell. 
This morning put No. 2 into the same pool, but 
on looking for it in the evening, found it was gone. 
No. 3 continues lively, and frequently displays its 
tentacula. For several days past it has had no 
other food than what it may derive from the water 
in which it is kept. 

23rd. — Gave No. 3 a piece of Cod liver yester- 
day morning ; to-day I thought I saw small 
portions of it in the points of the tentacula, as if 
it were passing through the animal's system : it is 
easily recognised by its color being of a deeper 
red than the animal itself. 

May 4th. — The Polype continues in much the 
same state as formerly. I have fed it occasionally 
with Cod liver, and feel persuaded that it derives 
some nutriment from it, and I have repeatedly 
noticed that portions of it appear to pass into the 

Our next extract refers to the Frog. C. A. 
J., the writer, says : — 

I was sitting in my drawing-room this very 
wet morning, when I was called away from my 
book by the sudden exclamation from one of the 
children, " Here's a frog crawling up the window ! " 
Strange as was the intelligence, it proved to be 
true. With arms and legs expanded on the wet 
glass, and adhering to it with all the under 
surface of the body, sprawled a half-grown frog, 
motionless, but with sparkling eyes, and breath- 
ing naturally, as the rising and falling cheeks 
clearly proved. After resting a few minutes, it 
began to stir, and with remarkable activity as- 
cended several inches, moving its limbs exactly 
as a sailor does when climbing the shrouds. 
Again it became stationary, supporting itself, how- 
ever, without effort, and soon after mounted 



another stage. A third movement, a sidelong ; 
one, brought it to the wooden frame of the glass, 
which it partially crossed, clinging to it with one 
hand, and adhering to the glass with the other 
hand, its throat, and chest, the legs hanging free. \ 
Its hold now wis evidently not secure, and in | 
about a minute it fell back upon the window-sill 
outside. About four feet below the window is an 
iron grating, placed over a pit, constructed to 
admit light into a cellar window. In this pit a 
number of frogs had taken refuge in the scorching 
weather of August, and here I supposed they were 
doomed to spend the rest of their lives ; but this 
ambitious traveller must have taken advantage 
of the wet weather to climb four or five feet of 
rough masonry, four feet more of smooth painted 
wall, and about ten inches of polished glass. Is 
this climbing power of frogs known, and may it 
not help to account for the strange situations in 
which the batrachian tribe are sometimes found? — 
Callipers Hall, Eickmansworth, September 18th 

The concluding extract, refers to the House 
Fly. It is a communication by James Na- 
pier, Esq., to the " Natural History Society 
of Glasgow." He says : — 

On the day of the last severe thunder storm in 
August last, I observed, immediately after the 
storrn had passed, my parlor window facing the 
storm literally studded with dead flies adhering to 
the glass ; beside each fly was a small opaque 
cloud, composed of a white gummy matter that 
appeared to have been ejected by the fly, and 
that very recently, from its being soft. That it 
had been simultaneous with the death of the 
insect, I think evident, from the wings and feet 
in most cases being covered with it in such quan- 
tity as to make it impossible for the insect to 
fly or walk. In all cases the insect was adhering 
to the glass by this gummy substance ; some by the 
feet, the wings, and the mouth or sucker of the 
proboscis ; in every instance this sucker was at its 
full expansion, as if blowing out ; and in two cases, 
out of the few examined, the proboscis was rup- 
tured or burst in the side. 

AVhether the death of these insects took place 
during the thunder storm, or in consequence of it, 
I cannot affirm ; but they had all died within the 
space of a few hours, and that insects are affected 
by sudden or great atmospheric changes can hardly 
be doubted. I have spoken with several persons 
who observed the same sudden mortality among 
the flies about the same time, and also the invari- 
able spot of dirt, as it was commonly called, conti- 
guous to each insect. 

In connection with this gummy matter, I may 
add a few observations first made some years ago. 
About the latter end of summer, (the month of 
August,) flies will often be observed standing per- 
fectly motionless often for a period of fifteen or 
twenty minutes ; examining them during these 
moods by a lens, it will be observed that they are 
not entirely idle, but are blowing out from their 
proboscis a fluid, which they hold at the mouth of 
their trunk as a globule, often as large as the head 
of a small pin. This globule the insect sucks in 
and blows out every few seconds, occasionally 
drawing in the proboscis and again throwing it 

out, evidently with great enjoyment. These drops 
of fluid often fall on the place where it stands, and 
form grey-colored round spots, which soon get 
dark, and constitute a great portion of that termed 
fly-dirt. 1 have seen several of these drops fall in 
a few minutes, exciting some apprehensions at the 
consequences were it continued. May not this 
account for the fact, that dead flies are always dry 
and empty ? The fluid, by reflected light, is of a 
cream-color, viscid and gummy ; and occasionally 
little specks of air and dust are seen in it — but no 
revolving motion has been observed. 



This little animal is found throughout. Europe, 
and, indeed, in most of the northern parts of the 
world. Its generic character consists in its 
having two front teeth, both above and below ; 
and the upper pair duplicate, two small interior 
ones standing behind the others; the forefeet have 
five, and the hinder four toes. Being destitute of 
weapons of defence, it is endowed by Providence 
with the passion of fear. It is attentive to every 
alarm, and is, therefore, furnished with ears very 
long and tubular, which catch the most remote 
sounds. The eyes are so prominent, as to 
enable the animal to see both before and behind. 
The hare feeds in the evenings, and sleeps in 
his form during the day ; and as he is generally 
on the ground, lie has the feet protected, both above 
and below, with a thick covering of hair. In 
temperate regions they choose in winter a form 
exposed to the south, to obtain all the possible 
warmth of that season ; and in summer, when 
they are desirous of shunning the hot rays of 
the sun, they change this for one with a 
northernly aspect ; but in both cases they have the 
instinct of generally fixing upon a place where 
j the immediately-surrounding objects are nearly 
the color of their own bodies. Among natura- 
lists it is a received notion that the hare, espe- 
j cially the buck, seldom lives beyond seven years, 
i and that when either is killed, another succeeds 
j to occupy its place ; whence is derived the pro- 
verb, — " The more hares you kill the more you 
will have to hunt ; " for when the buck and doe 
j live undisturbed together a little time, they suffer 
i no stranger to reside within their limits. It is 
i also a well-experienced truth, that some places 
l are remarkable for being seldom without hares, 
j and others, although as likely in all appearance 
' to harbour them, rarely with any. "Whether it 
j is any particular excellence in the feed, in the 
situation for forming advantageously, for warmth, 
; hearing, or seeing, that induces them to prefer 
j certain spots to others, or that on the death of a 
buck or doe another succeeds, and they possess 
their usual circle — cannot be ascertained, but the 
fact is perfectly established. 

The first ring a hare takes is generally the 
| foundation of the ensuing pastime, all the doubles 
she afterwards makes are in a great measure like 
the first ; a hare will go over great part of 
trailed land, and visit her works of the preceding 
} night and morning ; sometimes a buck will take 
endways over fresh ground without offering to 



return ; the doe usually runs in a circle, unless 
with young, or having recently kindled ; at such 
times she often runs forward, and scarcely ever 
escapes with life, heing naturally unfit for 
fatigue ; however, hoth sexes greatly regulate 
their conduct according to the _ season and 
weather. After a rainy night, in a woody 
country, neither buck nor doe will keep the cover, 
owing to the drops of wet hanging on the spray ; 
they therefore run the highways or stony lanes, 
for as the scent naturally lies strong, they hold 
the roads which take the least. Not that a hare 
judges upon what soil the scent lies weakest ; it 
is her ears that chiefly direct her, for the hounds 
being oftener at fault on the hard paths than the 
turf, she finds herself not so closely pressed, and 
is not so much alarmed with the continual cry 
of the dogs at her heels. The louder the cry, the 
more she is terrified, and flies the swifter ; the 
certain effect of which is, a heart broken sooner 
than with a pack equal in number and goodness, 
but who spend their tongues less free. The same 
principle directs the hare to run to the covers 
in autumn, when the ground is dry, and the 
wind cold, at north or east ; she then keeps the 
paths that are covered with leaves, which are so 
continually falling and blowing about that the 
best hounds cannot carry scent ; her alarms are 
consequently short, and she rests contented where 
she is least disturbed. 

When a hare rises out of form, if she erects her 
ears, and at first runs slowly, with her scut cast 
over her back, it is surely old and crafty. When 
a hare is hunted to his form, along the hard 
highways, and feeds far away from cover, and 
the doublings and crossings are wide and 
large, it is a buck ; for the does generally keep 
close to the side of some cover, and, when going 
to feed in the corn fields, seldom cross over the 
furrows but follow the track of them ; when 
hunted, they turn frequently, use many strata- 
gems, and rarely leave the country round their 
seat ; whilst the buck, after two or three turns 
about his form, runs straight forward four or five 
miles, and then probably squats in some place 
where he has before preserved himself. A buck 
or jack hare may also be known by his head 
being shorter, his ears more grey, his shoulders 
redder, and the body being smaller than the 
doe ; and, at his first starting, by the whiteness 
of his hinder parts. 

According to the season of the year, the hare 
is to be looked for ; if it be spring, upon fallows 
or green corn ; during the autumn, in stubbles or 
turnips ; in winter, they will seat themselves near 
houses, in brambles and tufts of thorn. 

Tender feet in dogs, are owing to the softness 
of that fleshy substance called the ball of the 
foot ; but nature has been singularly liberal to the 
hare in this part, by supplying her with such 
feet as are not subject to, and indeed scarcely 
susceptible of hurt, so as to incommode her in 
running. The balls of her feet, instead of hard 
flesh, are covered with strong coarse fur, suited 
so well to the purpose that she never treads 
easier, or to more advantage, than on*the hardest 
beaten track, or rugged stony roads ; the very 
surface which cripples a dog, she glides over 
with pleasure. In a frost she has an evident 
superiority to most creatures ; the horse does not 

at that season take his gallops, for fear of founder- 
ing ; the greyhound or hound would in running 
start all their claws, and tear themselves to 
pieces — whilst the hare treads as soft as if she 
went on wool. 

The dear little creature we have here described, 
is the most harmless of all animals ; consequently 
Man, her master, takes special delight in hunting 
her to death, or in wounding her with the con- 
tents of a gun-barrel ! Are we not justified in 
calling man " a savage ? " 


'TiS NOW that the cold blasts of the 
north, sweep along the ruffled surface of the 
lake ; over whose deep waters frown the 
rugged crags of rusty gneiss, having their cre- 
vices sprinkled with tufts of withered herb- 
age, and their summits crowned with stunted 
birches and alders. The desolate hills around 
are partially covered with snow ; the pastures 
are drenched with the rains ; the brown tor- 
rents seam the heathy slopes ; and the little 
birds have long ceased to enliven those de- 
serted thickets with their gentle songs. Mar- 
gining the waters extends a long muddy beach, 
over which are scattered blocks of stone ; par- 
tially clothed with dusky and olivaceous 
weeds. Here and there, a gull floats buoyantly 
in the shallows ; some oyster-catchers repose 
on a gravel bank, their bills buried among 
their plumage ; and there, on that low shelf, is 
perched a solitary heron, like a monument of 
listless indolence — a bird petrified in its 

At another time, when the tide has retired, 
you may find it wandering, with slow and 
careful tread, among the little pools ; and by 
the sides of the rocks, in search of small 
fishes and crabs. But, unless you are bent on 
watching it, you will find more amusement 
in observing the lively tringas and turnstones, 
ever in rapid motion ; for the heron is a dull 
and lazy bird, or at least he seems to be 
such ; and even if you draw near, he rises in 
so listless a manner, that you think it a hard 
task for him to unfold his large wings and 
heavily beat the air, until he has fairly raised 
himself. But now he floats away, lightly, 
though with slow flappings, screams his harsh 
cry, and hies to some distant place, where he 
may remain unmolested by the prying natu- 
ralist. Perhaps you may wonder at finding 
him in so cold and desolate a place as this 
dull sea creek, on the most northern coast of 
Scotland ; and that, too, in the very midst of 
winter. But the heron courts not society, 
and seems to care as little as any one for the 

Were you to betake yourself to the other 
extremity of the island, where the scenery 
is of a very different character, and the inlets 
swarm with ducks and gulls, there too you 
would find the heron, unaltered in manners, 



slow in his movements, careful and patient, 
ever hungry and ever lean ; for even when in 
best condition, he never attains the plumpness 
that gives yon the idea of a comfortable exist- 
ence. Far away through the green valley 
winds the silver Tweed ; now rolling its 
waters over the white pebbles, then gliding 
placidly between banks covered with fresh 
herbage and gaudy florets of many hues. The 
hum of the wild bee draws your eye toward 
those beautiful tufts of purple trefoil ; the 
weet-weet, ever vibrating its body as if 
delicately balanced on its slim legs, runs 
along the sunny beach, spreads out its pointed 
wings, and skims over the pool. 

There, in the water, nearly up to the knees, 
is the herou, patiently waiting an opportunity 
of seizing some giddy trout. Those ducklings 
that swim so beautifully, and dive with such 
marvellous quickness, he seems to eye with 
hungry glance ; but their watchful protect- 
ress is in the midst of them. That wary 
old water-rat is equally safe, as he nibbles 
the grass at the mouth of his hole ; and at 
intervals trims his whiskers with his little 
paws. In short, go where you will, in sum- 
mer or in winter, to the shores of the sea or 
the far inland lake, the source or the estuary 
of the hill-born streams, you may here and 
there find a solitary heron. — Macgillivray. 



At this bleak and barren season of the year, 
although there is still much to attract the general 
admirer of nature, yet as regards those who fol- 
low that particular branch relating to insects, 
there is little now to draw them abroad, while the 
insect world lies almost entirely in a state of 
sleep. At this season, the entomologist recalls 
the pursuits of the previous year ; and the follow- 
ing observations, made by the writer, can per- 
haps claim little merit save their originality. I 
purpose to offer a few points noticed in rearing 
various larvae of Moths. 

The first caterpillar which I had during last 
year, was one of the Goat Moth (cossus), which 
was cut by a laborer from an old willow. When 
I received it, it was apparently about three parts 
grown. It was in a rather languid state, and if 
disturbed would immediately raise its head, and 
open its formidable jaws. The peculiar odor 
which it emitted was so powerful, that a box in 
which it was placed smells as strong as at first, 
after the lapse of ten months. Though it was 
supplied with food, it died after a few -weeks ; 
having made some attempts to form a nestwhich 
it was apparently too weak to do. 

In the beginning of April, I obtained a num- 
ber of caterpillars of the great Tiger {Arctia 
Caja), in the vicinity of Chelsea, feeding on the 
dead nettle. Of these, some arrived at perfection 
in May, and others in June. A remarkable cir- 
cumstance is, the great irritation produced by 

even a minute particle of the hairs which create 
a kind of nettle-rash on the skin. 

In June, I obtained from Hertfordshire the eggs 
of some unknown Sphinx, nearly all of which 
hatched ; but none of them would eat, although 
supplied with the leaves of the tree on which 
they were laid. They were about five lines in 
length, of a pale green color, with a long horn 
tapering gradually, and without any appearance 
of stripes on the sides. 

I had next the eggs and young larva? of the 
Puss Moth [Centra Vinala), of which nine arrived 
at maturity. This caterpillar is very remarkable 
both in appearance and habits. The usual period 
of growth was from six to seven weeks, and in 
this time it changes its skin four times. Having 
closely observed the habits of these, I can find 
no foundation for the fact (?), noticed in some 
books, of their ejecting an acrid fluid if irritated. 
The peculiar horns, with which the tail is sup- 
plied, are certainly protruded when it is touched, 
but are not used to strike with. The cocoon 
generally is perfected in about two days from its 
commencement ; and when dry, resembles a swell- 
ing on the trunk of a tree. 

In the beginning of July, I obtained from the 
vicinity of Chelsea some caterpillars of the Eyed 
Hawk [Smerinthus Ocillatus), but unfortunately 
all but two were killed by parasites. This insect 
seems peculiarly infested by these ichneumons. 
Some of them will live for days after the grubs 
have forced their way out ; but they never eat, 
and ultimately die. Scarcely any kind of cater- 
pillar seems exempt from attack by these insects, 
which no doubt serve some useful purpose in the 
economy of nature. 

In September, after having examined a large 
quantity of privet, I discovered a nearly full- 
grown caterpillar of the Privet Hawk (S. Ligas- 
tri), which was an insect I had never before 
obtained. This beautiful caterpillar after a short 
time entered the earth ; but to my surprise, after 
a few days he came out again, and remained on 
the surface, where he died in about a week ; and 
did not change into a chrysalis, much to my dis- 
appointment. I afterwards attributed his death 
to the earth in the flower-pot not being of suffi- 
cient depth. 

During last season, I reared from the Larvae, 
also the Nettle Tortoise, and the Peacock, and the 
Feathered Prominent Moth. There is a remarkable 
difference in growth often observed amongst cater- 
pillars of the same species, and hatched at the 
same time. Some will enter the chrysalis state 
a week earlier than others. There is also a dif- 
ference in the time occupied in changing their 
skin. With some, it takes three days or more ; 
others perform it in two. I have watched many 
larvae closely, but could never observe any con- 
sciousness, or any perception of the times at 
which they were usually supplied with fresh 

leaves - Cebuea. 

The Fidgets. — A fidgetty man, or a fidgetty 
woman, ought to be kept under lock and key. 
They frighten themselves till they get ill ; and 
they drive all who come near them to the very 
verge of madness. They should have a ward to 




{Continued from page 277', Vol. II.) 

Lo ! in this curious insect, 
What microscopic proofs of skill and power, 
Hidden for ages past, God now displays 
To combat atheists with, in modern days I 

RIUMPHING, as we now are, 
daily, over old prejudices ; and 
viewing the wonders of creation 
as we now do with a desire to 
know more and more of their 
varied attractions, — we deem 
nothing that the Creator has 
made, unworthy our attention. 
All Persons who really love to watch Nature 
in some of her more delicate movements, should 
carefully study the operations of the Spider. 
_ It is not merely in the construction of their re- 
sidence that they turn their silken filament to ac- 
count. With its assistance, they are enabled to 
fabricate a cradle for their progeny, so well-con- 
trived that it is impossible to contemplate it with- 
out admiration, or without reflecting that even 
among these most savage and ferocious of all 
living animals, "Love strong as Death," has 
been appointed the safeguard and defender of 
the race. Who would expect anything like af- 
fection in a female spider — remorseless, cruel, and 
blood-thirsty as she is ? Her very mate approaches 
her with fear and trembling ; for should she not 
happen to be in an extremely good temper, his 
life inevitably pays the forfeit of his rashness, his 
amiable spouse feeling not the slightest objection 
to obtain a hearty meal by devouring her better- 
half ; yet. strange to say, no animals can be pointed 
out more devotedly attached to their progeny than 
the females of these relentless devourers. When 
about to lay her eggs, converting her silken thread 
to a new use, the spider-mother constructs with 
it a beautiful globular basket or cocoon, in which 
she deposits her precious treasure, and then binds 
the cradle to some part of her body, or sometimes 
simply carries it clasped to her breast ; no mat- 
ter how she may be engaged, she never leaves it, 
even while at the chase in search of food ; no dan- 
ger, no torture will make her drop her cherished 
burden, nor while life lasts will anything compel 
her to desert the charge entrusted to her care. 
When the young are hatched, the spectacle is 
equally interesting ; for the new-born progeny, as 
they leave the egg, creep out upon their mother's 
back, who carries them about and defends them 
with tiger-like courage, until they become strong 
enough to procure their own subsistence. 

Spiders, _ unlike the true insects, frequently 
change their skin, and present themselves in a new 
and enlarged dress as their growth proceeds. The 
manner in which this operation is effected 
is thus described by Mr. Blackwall, to whose ex- 
cellent observations on the structure and economy 
of these creatures we are indebted for an account 
of the process : — " Preparatory to casting its inte- 
guments, the spider spins several strong lines in 
the vicinity of its snare, from which it suspends 
itself by the feet, and a filament proceeding from 
the spinners. After remaining for a short time in 
this situation, the horny covering of the thorax 
gives way by a fissure running down each side of 

the body, immediately above the insertion of the 
mandibles and legs, so that the head and thorax 
are the first parts liberated. The line of separa- 
tion pursues the same direction till it extends to 
the abdomen, which is the next part disengaged ; 
the extrication of the legs being the last and great- 
est difficulty the spider has to overcome. 

" As the suspensory filament connected with tho 
spinners of the exuviae is considerably shorter than 
the legs, and does not undergo any sensible altera- 
tion in length, the abdomen during the process of 
moulting becomes gradually deflected from its ori- 
ginal horizontal direction, till it assumes a vertical 
position nearly at right angles with the thorax. 
By this change of posture, attended with numerous 
contortions of the body, and alternate contractions 
and extensions of the limbs, the spider is ultimately 
enabled to accomplish its purpose. The spines 
with which the legs are provided, no doubt con- 
tribute to facilitate the operation greatly ; for as 
they are directed down the limbs, and are move- 
able at the will of the animal, when it has par- 
tially drawn its legs from their sheath, by con- 
tracting them, it can prevent them from re-enter- 
ing, by slightly erecting the spines, and thus 
bringing their extremities in contact with the 
inner surface of the integuments. 

" When the spider has completely disengaged 
itself from the slough, it remains for a short period 
in a state of great exhaustion, suspended solely 
by a thread from the spinners, connected with the 
interior of the abdominal portion of the cast skin, 
which is much corrugated and drawn together. 
The entire process, as above described, occupies 
the space of about twenty minutes. After repos- 
ing a little, the spider further attaches itself to the 
suspensory linos by the claws of the feet ; and when 
its strength is sufficiently restored, and its limbs 
have acquired the requisite degree of firmness, it 
ascends its filaments and seeks its retreat." 

Such are a few only of the curious provisions of 
nature, with regard to this insect. Vulgar 
minds recoil at the sight of the spider, and can see 
no beauty in the work of its hands." They 
shriek, and run away, as if from a revolting spec- 
tacle. We pity such people, and blush for their 
narrow intellect. 



(Continued from Vol. II., page 406 J 

Heark'ee, Mr. Editor, — " La dent d'oche 
fume sa pipe," and so does my old master now and 
then, and I see no harm in it. Indeed, it is 
rather a cosey sight to see the old boy snugly 
ensconced in his little summer-house, and enjoy- 
ing his patent " yerbury " well primed with best 
"latakia, myself reclining by his feet on one side, 
and my godson (an immense black cat) on the 
other — a glass of sherry-and-water on the little 
shelf, and though last, not least, the latest number 
of Our Journal, which he is quietly conning over. 

This is a very calm scene you will admit ; but 
it is a vastly different story when the " dent 
d'oche" performs, as you shall presently see. I 
must premise, Mr. Editor, that the " dent d'oche" 
is a very high mountain in Savoy, about three 

Vol. III.— 3. 



miles S. E. of Tholon, a small town situated on 
the S. E. of Lac Leman, and nearly opposite 
"Cully," on the Vaudois side of the lake. 

Now, Mr. Editor, when the wind blows from 
the Fort de l'Ecluse just above Bellegarde, 
on the frontiers of France and Switzerland, you 
must not fail to go to this spot, if you should 
ever take it in your head to visit Geneva, not only 
to see the splendid wild mountainous scenery from 
this tremendous fortification, but also to witness 
the remarkable Perte du Rhone. There is a very 
good old-fashioned hotel here, and everything 
very well and very reasonably served ; and 
although it is a frontier town, the "gens 
d'armes" never give you any trouble, if you are 
only kind to them. They much prefer discussing 
a '"pinte" of " medoc" and a cigar, to turning 
your carriage inside out for the chance of finding 
a bit of stale bread. However, when the wind 
blows from the fort de l'Ecluse, it is a hundred 
to one that the " dent d'oche commence a fume 
sa pipe." 

It happened one morning in August, that 
Bombyx and his family, accompanied by the old 
"grandpapa des papillons," started in a large 
open carnage for the Tour de Gourzes. It was a 
glorious morning as", at six o'clock, we left our 
residence — of course intent on a day's sport and 
amusement ; and the wind was slightly from the 
N.W. We went up the Berne Road by " Vennes," 
les " croisettes," to the " chalet a gobet," here we 
branched off to our right through Savigny, after 
our party had refreshed their steeds, and myself 
and brother had got up a glorious cats' hunt. 

We turned south from Savigny, and reached our 
old friend the Chasseur about nine o'clock ; when 
having disposed of some bread and cheese, and 
ordered dinner at three, Bombyx and his sons, 
with old grandpapa, Jean, and the German 
servant, set off for the Tour de Gourzes ; whilst the 
young ladies amused themselves by making cap- 
tures at the foot of the mountain and fishing 
water-beetles out of a neighboring pond. Many 
were the beautiful captures made in butterflies, 
moths, geometne, tinioe, and coleopterae ; and de- 
lightful, too, was it to see old grandpapa, at nearly 
eighty, the gayest of the gay. 

Myself and my brother were hunting for mice, 
close by the old tower, when Ave heard Jean say 
to himself (at the same time stroking his nose 
significantly), " Voyons voir," the wind has quite 
changed, and the heat is almost suffocating. 

"Parbleu oui," says grandpapa, applying his 
handkerchief to his venerable bald cranium, " even 
I am quite in a perspiration. I think the wind 
blows from the Fort de l'Ecluse. However, we 
shall be home in time." 

" Je voudrais bien," says Jean. 

After a little more sport we went down to the 
chalet. There all was ready under the old plane 
trees, and the first thing I smelt, Mr. Editor — 
ah ! I suppose you have already guessed it — was 
the inimitable omelette, the never-to-be-forgot- 
ten " Soupe aux Herbettes," the exquisite 
" Jainbon," the " Salade croquante," some deli- 
cious " Briscelete," expressly for old grand-papa, 
old Beaume, and Yvorne. 

At about five o'clock, we started on our return ; 
but I overheard a conversation between Jean and 
the postillion, which made me fancy we should not 

have such a pleasant trip home as we had 
out. All went on smoothly and comfortably down 
to Grand Vaux and Villette, although it had now 
got fearfully " sombre" and overcast ; and thunder 
was heard in Savoy. Our postillion (an uncom- 
monly jovial fellow), pushed on as fast as he 
could, and we were just getting into M Lutry" 
when the loud voice of our postillion was heard. 
" La dent d'oche fume sa Pipe ! " All eyes were 
instantly turned towards the " Dent d'Oche ;" 
and sure enough, immense heavy, lead-colored 
clouds, were rolling over the lofty summit, and 
slowly descending its huge sides, towards the 
lake ; whilst others were winding round the 
" Roche St. Julien, and reaching the Lake by the 
" Vallee du Rhone." Every one was made as 
snug as could be ; but it was of little use. Flash 
after flash of the most vivid lightning followed 
with awful rapidity. The " Dent d'Oche" fired 
from the summit, midway, and base. This was 
met by tremendous serpentining flashes, which 
seemed to run along the lake as they burst from the 
" Vallee du Rhone." The thunder was unceas- 
ing, and fearfully loud. Luckily, the postillion 
knew his horses, aud they were quiet as might be. 
Presently we got to Pully, and here a deluge of 
rain drenched us to the skin. The storm conti- 
nued raging ; and as we neared Lausanne, by the 
old " Route d'ltalie," and were passing" les Mous- 
sequines," such a shower of hail fell, that I 
really thought we should have had every bone in 
our bodies broken. Fortunately, it was all up-hill, 
and we escaped a good deal by keeping under the 
carriage. Far otherwise was it with Bombyx and 
his party. However, Jean and Bombyx were 
laughing away to keep each other in good spirits. 
Not so old grand-papa ; who lost his patience, and 
got out to walk, thinking to get shelter in a .small 
cottage which he knew to be close by. Here, 
however, he was, unfortunately, much disap- 
pointed — the owner being out, and the door 
locked. In a back lane by MonRepos, the light- 
ning fell twice within four yards of us. I confess we 
were all now alarmed, and leaving the high road, 
we went straight across a private field, and 
reached home after the worst soaking I ever had 
in my life. 

Old grand-papa arrived about half an hour 
afterwards, worse off than any — positively like a 
drowned rat. A good supper, and some hot grog, 
put all to rights again. This storm lasted, on 
and off, during two entire days. 

Now, Mr. Editor, you know what it is when 
" La Dent d' Oche fume sa Pipe." — Believe me 
to remain, your affectionate friend, 


Tottenham, Jan. 20th, 1853. 


There is no word or action but may be taken 
with two hands ; either with the right hand of 
charitable construction, or the sinister interpre- 
tation of malice and suspicion. All things so 
succeed, as they are taken. To construe an 
evil action well, is but a pleasing and profitable 
deceit for myself. But to misconstrue a good 
tiling, is a terrible wrong — to myself, the action, 
and tbo author. — Bishop Hall. 





The Cat. — A cat lives only for herself. 
Her heart is entirely cold. Her affections 
are interested and temporary. She has little 
part or sympathy in your enjoyments. She 
purrs when you rub her back, but scratches 
you if you do not rub it in the right place. 
She performs you no service, but the cruel 
one of torturing the little mice — the fero- 
cious wretch ! She likes comfort, too. No 
sly monk ever stretched himself in quiet 
before the comfortable blaze, and fed on the 
fat and cream of the land, with more hearty 
zest. But you get no thanks — and you 
scarcely, with all your caresses, bolster up 
anything like a real acquaintance with the 
creature. She has her own secret haunts, 
where you cannot trace her. She flies you 
when she is full. She cannot conceal the 
ingratitude of her cold and lonely nature. 
She communes with, you know not whom, 
in strange hours and places. Now you find 
her watching on the house-roof. Well ! 
Wheat has she to do there ? Go down into 
the cellar an hour after, to search for some- 
thing thrown aside amid old lumber, and 
you behold her two great green eyes, all 
fiendish light and fire, blazing on you from 
the innermost recess of the darkest hole — in 
unreachable places — alone — crouching, wait- 
ing. What the deuce has any honest person 
to do there ? You behold her sometimes 
stealing silently, stealthily, like some one on 
a guilty and mysterious mission, amid the 
cobweb hung beams of the garret ; and, if 
you have a room devoted to yourself — a 
pantry with sweetmeats and treasures — all 
the keys in Christendom won't keep her 
from a secret, close, thorough scrutiny, till 
she knows what every.jar, and pot, and pan, 
and escrutoire contains as well as you do. 
Are these the manners of a straight-forward, 
open minded animal ? 

The Dog. — How unlike is the reputation 
of the cat to that of our good-natured and 
honest friend the dog ! Of the latter, what 
noble and heroic deeds are related ! How 
he has saved the master that was drowning 
him, and licked the hand that had shot him 
in the act of his duty ! How many skulking 
robbers he has arrested — how he ha& fought 
and died in defence of those he loved — how 
many children he has dragged out of ponds 
and rivers ! What is there in man superior 
to his courage — his forgiveness — his magnan- 
imity — his fidelity — his sagacity — his grati- 
tude ! How beautiful, too, he often is ! 
What a face he has, sometimes, when he 
looks into his master's eyes for approbation ! 
Give him but a smile — a word — a caress, 

and all his faithful services are more than 
repaid, and he would meet death in its direst 
form at the slightest token of your will ! 
How he enters into the habits of his master ! 
How he learns and accommodates himself 
to his ways ! You cannot make him so 
happy as in allowing him to serve you ; and, 
when you die, he dies of grief on your grave! 




In treating of Cochin-china fowls, I ap- 
proach them with diffidence, knowing how 
many different opinions there are, and with 
what tenacity they are held. It will be neces- 
sary to go back some years, in order to get at 
the root of the erroneous ideas afloat with 
respect to them; and to discover how it is 
that, while other fowls have their admitted 
points whereby they are distinguished ( and 
which are allowed by all to be the standard 
by which they may be judged ,) in these there 
is such diversity of opinion. 

They were first possessed by Her Majesty, 
and soon known as uncommon birds. Great 
efforts were made to get possession of one of 
them, or even of an egg. Many were suc- 
cessful in the latter, and the produce, whether 
cock or pullet, was mated to anything that 
seemed to resemble it. Thus, the Cochin- 
china cocks found often a Dorking partner ; 
and the Cochin-china hen a Malay mate. 
These have been bred, and bred again, during 
the first four or five years of the demand ; 
and at each breeding the quantity of pure 
blood has been increased by the thorough- 
bred partner in the first instance being mated 
with his or her own progeny, till at last the 
cross had become only a stain, and this so 
slight as to be imperceptible, except to any 
one who has studied them closely. These 
birds have been sold as pure, and the pur- 
chasers finding that from them they get some 
clean legged, and some five-clawed, believed 
such to be correct specimens. But it is an 
undoubted fact, that a cross is never to be de- 
pended upon ; and that just when it is expec- 
ted all the impure blood is got rid of, it re- 
appears in the extra claw of the Dorking, and in 
the peculiar head and clean leg of the Malay. 

This is not all. When it was found there was 
a ready sale at large prices for Cochin-china 
fowls, every captain trading to that country 
was loaded with commissions to bring some 
home ; and now, when a motley and mongrel 
group is condemned, the owner very often 
meets you by saying " t\\ey must be pure, for 
they are imported birds. " This may be 
quite true ; but they are not the Cochin-china 
fowls appreciated in England. To get those, 
the party bringing them over should be a 

d 2 

judge, or should have them well described to 
him, before he leaves England. I do not 
mean to say the fowls are not brought from 
Cochin-china ; but I do say they are not the 
sort of fowl belonging to that country which is 
in repute here. There are there, as here, diver- 
sities of breed ; but there is only one breed 
which we hold in repute. 

The Cochin-china cock is a bold, upright 
bird ; with erect, indented single comb, rising 
from the beak over the nostril — projecting 
over the neck, and then slanting away under- 
neath, to allow the root to be fixed on the top 
of the head. The beak is strong and curved, 
the eye bold, the face red, the wattle pendant, 
and the ear-lobe very long — hanging much 
lower than in other fowls. He is a bird of 
noble carriage, and differs from most other 
fowls in the following points : he has little 
tail ; indeed, in very fine specimens it may be 
said they have none. They have the hackle 
large and long, it falls from the neck to the 
back, and from its termination there is a small 
gradual rise to where the tail should be ; but 
where its apology, some glossy, slightly- 
twisted feathers-fall over like those of an 
ostrich. The last joint of the wing folds up, 
so that the ends of the flight -feathers are 
concealed by the middle ones ; and their ex- 
tremities again are covered by the copious 
saddle. The next peculiarities of these birds 
are, — what is technically called " the fluff," 
and " the crow. " The former is composed 
of beautifully-soft, long feathers, covering the 
thighs till they project considerably, and 
garnishing all the hinder parts of the bird in 
the same manner ; so much so, that to view 
the widest part of the Cochin-china cock you 
must look at him behind. His crow is to the 
crow of other cocks, what the railway whistle 
is to that of the errand boy in the streets ; it 
is loud, hoarse, and amazingly prolonged. 
They seem to delight in it ; and will continue 
it till they are on tip-toe, and are compelled 
to exchange their usual erect position for one 
in which the neck is curved, and the head 
brought down to the level of the knees. View- 
ing the broadside, it will be seen that there 
is in this bird a deficiency of breast. It slants 
off in a straight line, from the end of the neck 
to the beginning of the fluff that covers the 
upper part of the thigh. 

The pullet has most points in common with 
the cock. Her head is beautiful, the comb 
small, very upright, with many indentations. 
The face, if 1 may use the term, is intelligent. 
Her body is much deeper in proportion than 
that of the cock. Her fluff is softer, having 
almost a silky texture ; her carriage is less 
erect. She has none of the falling feathers at 
the tail ; but the little she has are upright, and 
should come to a blunt point, nothing like 
the regular rounded tails of other hens. In 
both, the legs should be yellow ; well feathered 

to the toes. Very particular fanciers require 
that the outer toe of the feet should be much 
shorter than the others ; and that the web be- 
tween the toes should be larger than in other 
fowls. Flesh-colored legs are admissible, but 
green, black, or white, are defects. No other 
bird shows its shape in feathers so plainly 
as this does ; and with an old-fashioned 
Chinese puzzle, composed of a number of 
small triangular pieces of wood, it would be 
easy to give a good notion of a Cochin-china 
hen. In buying them, avoid long tails, clean 
legs, fifth toes, and double combs. Above 
all, take care the cock has not, nor ever has 
had, sickle feathers. 

I have endeavored to describe the be*-t 
birds of their species. Such may be always 
obtained, and afterwards bred, but they will 
be the pickings of the yard. 

Next as to color. Yellow, buff, and nankin 
are the favorites ; and I think them certainly 
more beautiful than the darker, grouse, par- 
tridge, and chesnut birds. But \ do not 
believe they are types of greater purity. The 
earlier imported, were darker than the later 
ones ; and the cross has produced birds of 
exceeding beauty. 

They are very good layers ; and I have 
proved they sometimes lay twice in a day. 
I have known two instances of it ; but I think 
the explanation I can give, will bear out the 
opinion that it is not in the nature of any hen 
to do so. The fowl in question more than 
once laid early ; and again ( in summer ) just 
before dark. One, probably, at four in the 
morning, and another at eight in the evening. 
Thus, two eggs in sixteen hours ; but she 
never laid the following day. Several times 
she did this ; but very often the second egg 
had an imperfect shell, yielding to the slight- 
est pressure. They seem to lay at a certain 
age, without any regard to weather or time 
of year ; beginning soon after they are five 
months old. I have had pullets of that age 
laying regularly in very cold frosty weather, 
when those of the same age, of other breeds 
running with them, showed no signs of fol- 
lowing their example. 

They do not lose their qualities as they 
get older, but they lose their beauty sooner 
than any other. Every year seems to increase 
the difficulty of moulting. I am convinced 
the age of beauty in a Cochin-china fowl is 
from nine to eighteen months. After this 
the hens become coarse, their feathers grow 
with difficulty, their fluff is a long time 
coming, and the beautiful intelligent head 
is exchanged for an old careworn expression 
of face. I am also sure that the tails of the 
cocks increase as they get older. I have 
always found them hardy. The little naked 
ostrich-looking chickens will do well even in 
bleak spots, and without any unusual care. 
They are excellent mothers. I know an in- 



stance when one of these hens began laying 
again while her chickens were small, and 
regularly led them to her nest every day, 
keeping them there while she laid. I believe 
from this breed, there are more cocks hatched, 
in proportion to the pullets, than any other. 
Too much cannot be said in favor of their 
gentleness and contented disposition. A 
fence four feet high suffices to keep them from 
wandering, and they allow themselves to be 
taken from their perch and replaced, — to be 
handled, exhibited, or made any use of, 
without the least opposition. 


In our able contemporary, " The Field," we 
find an article on the late exhibition of Poul- 
try at Birmingham. Being too ill at the time 
to attend personally, we give an abstract of 
the particulars, furnished by a reporter for 
this well-timed periodical. The " show" 
deserves chronicling in our pages. 

" That our domestic fowls are no longer 
the insignificant, neglected, unnoticed little 
beings that they were a very few years 
since, is sufficiently proved by the interest 
excited in the 37,002 persons who visited 
the 1,223 pens of fowls, pigeons, geese, 
ducks, turkeys, and guinea-fowls, collected 
in Bingley Hall for exhibition, on the 14th 
of December. In 1850, 556 pens were ex- 
hibited under 21 heads or classes. In 1852, 
both entries and classes are considerably 
more than doubled ; improvement in merit 
has kept pace with this advance in number ; 
but there is one circumstance even more 
pleasing to those who take an interest in 
poultry, than this progress in number and 
goodness, because it is one which offers a hope 
of even greater success for the future — we 
mean the increasing attention which ladies 
are bestowing on this branch of domestic 
economy. The useful will not be too much 
sacrificed to the ornamental ; and while we 
feel great pleasure in seeing our Cochin-Chi- 
na's with small tails and perfect combs — our 
Dorkings compact, square-built and five-toed, 
and our spangled Hamburghs with the most 
exact arrangement of bars upon the wings 
and all other perfections, it will not be for- 
gotten that these favorites rear us delicious 
fowls for the table, give us a most abundant 
supply of eggs, and prove themselves 'ami- 
able and estimable in every relation of life.' 
_ " The poultry, which occupied a large por- 
tion of the building, was arranged in four 
alleys with ranges of pens, also around the 
walls of that portion of the interior. These 
alleys became at times so much crowded with 
visitors, especially on Thursday, the market 
day, that there appears some danger of the 
fowls eventually banishing the beautiful ani- 

mals which have hitherto occupied the re- 
mainder of the hall. 

"AH who admire fine poultry, or wish to 
make choice among the finest, should pay a 
visit to the Birmingham show ; choice, how- 
ever, would prove no easy task, where all 
are so good. It would be difficult to find 
whiter-faced Spanish fowls than those of 
Captain Hornby, which took the first and 
second prizes in the first class. The beauti- 
ful Dorking fowls which took the prizes, must 
have felt that they escaped an additional test, 
from those which belonged to the Hon. and 
Eev. Stephen Willoughby Lawley having 
been disqualified from taking prizes, on ac- 
count of their owner acting in the capacity 
of judge. Both Dorkings and Game fowls 
were splendid collections y but as usual, the 
Cochin-China exceeded even these older 
favorites in attracting numerous spectators 
around their pens. The Malays were con- 
sideredbetter than have lately been exhibited. 
The Hamburghs and Polands in all their 
varieties were very pretty, and Class 46 (for 
any other distinct breed) was not forgotten 
either in entries or prizes, with its array of 
Cuckoo, White Poland, Rumpless, Frizzled, 
Silk, Andalusian, and black Cochin-China 
fowls. The Gold-laced and some other 
Bantams were good ; and the collection of 
pigeons, though not large, was both good 
and pretty. 

" The judges of poultry were the Hon. and 
Rev. Stephen Willoughby Lawley, Escrick 
Rectory, near York ; G. R. Andrews, Esq., 
Dorchester ; the Rev. Robert Pulleine, the 
Rectory, Kirby Wlske, near Thirsk ; and 
Mr. John Baily, Mount-street, Grosvenor- 
square, London. Mr. T. L. Parker, Bir- 
mingham, and Mr. Hale, Handsw r orth, were 
judges of the pigeons." 


The First Show of the Society for estab- 
lishing in our Great Metropolis an Annual 
Exhibition of Poultry, Pigeons, and Rabbits, 
took place on the 11th of the present month 
— January. 

The Society enjoys the patronage of many 
noblemen and gentlemen of distinction, in- 
cluding the Duke of Rutland, the Marquis of 
Salisbury, the Earls of Derby, Stanhope, 
Cottenham, Stradbroke, Harrington, Ducie, 
Clarendon, Lichfield, and Stamford ; Lord 
Feversham, Lord Hastings, Lord Sandys, the 
Marquis of Granby, and Lord Guernsey. 
One of its main objects is, according to the 
rules, " to afford an opportunity to the public 
to improve their collections." It is, therefore, 
provided that all the specimens figuring in 
the Show shall be offered to competition by 



public auction during the exhibition; the 
proprietors being required to state the value 
they place upon the birds or animals they 
exhibit, although they are not precluded 
from naming a prohibitory price. 

The building selected for the exhibition, 
was the Baker Street Bazaar; where the shows 
of the Smithfield Cattle Club and the Koyal 
Agricultural Society have been held. The 
extensive and commodious galleries of the 
building are admirably adapted for the purpose. 
There was no difficulty in ascertaining the 
precise situation of the animals exhibited. 
The unearthly, hideous noises, belched out in 
continuous streams by the Cochin-China 
fowls, at once led all visitors to their locale. 
As a gentleman remarked, en passant, — 
whatever might have been the " noises" 
emitted during the building of Babel's tower, 
they could not have been more " diabolical" 
than those heard here. The effect was 
deafening indeed, although, of course, un- 

The collection of animals was very con- 
siderable, — embracing turkeys, ducks, geese, 
pigeons, rabbits, and fowls. The principal 
"feature" however was, evidently, the do- 
mestic fowls, which hi number and beauty 
far exceeded, we should imagine, any hitherto 
shown in one place. We were greatly pleased 
to observe the attention lavished on them by 
many of the gentle sex, who we could see felt 
much interest in the exhibition ; and who, 
Catalogue in hand, were taking notes, and 
offering comments innumerable as they passed 
on. The study of Natural History will be pro- 
moted, in no small degree, by the introduction 
of these shows, and we hail them as a happy 
omen of good times to come. 

Of the fowls exhibited, the great prepon- 
derance was in favor of the Cochin-China, — 
some gigantic specimens of which — " the ne 
plus ultra of ugliness," as a young lady naively 
called them — were submitted to the public 
eye. The extraordinary mania for these 
birds still continues ; and madness, as to the 
prices given for them, has hardly any limit. 
So fearful were the owners that any stray 
eggs might be dropped by the hens, and 
abstracted by the visitors, that so many as 
eight policemen were retained to watch the 
movements of both ! We have before given 
the history, and recorded our opinion, of these 
monstrosities ; and need only say here, that 
" Herod was out-Heroded" by " new, and (so- 
called) improved specimens." 

As far as our judgment goes, we very far 
prefer a cross we observed in one of the pens, 
between a Cochin cock and a Dorking hen. 
The animals were of a fine, sensible size, — 
not ungainly, yet large enough for any rational 
purpose ; either for the supply of eggs or for 
the table. We had some interesting con- 
versation on the relative merits of the races 

exhibited, with some practical men in the 
room ; and we were glad to find their senti- 
ments in unison with our own. Excellence 
does not always consist in enormity, nor in 
extremes. This will be found out, by-and- 
by. " Love soonest hot," etc. 

The prices set upon some of the specimens 
were ridiculously absurd. However, it was 
but natural to rate them high in the Catalogue. 
Had we been going to select for our own 
use, we should have been found among the 
Game fowls,theDorkings, the golden-spangled 
Hamburghs, and the Andalusians. These 
last were in Class 47, numbers 2, 3, and 5 ; 
and were exhibited by Mr John Taylor, 
of Shepherd's Bush. This gentleman, is an 
excellent judge of the qualities of poultry. 
We were much pleased with his white 
Spanish fowls, too, — beautiful, well - bred 
animals, in every respect. 

To particularise, more minutely, in a 
Journal like ours, would be superfluous. 
There was an abundant variety of all kinds, 
and many of the breeds were first-rate. We 
expected to have seen much better specimens 
of the gold-laced bantams. There were one 
or two well-bred hens, but the rest were 
only passable ; and in a wretched state of 
health, for the most part. We have two 
little hens of this breed, of which we may, 
after this exhibition, feel not a little proud. 
The strain is evidently fast degenerating. It 
is rare indeed to meet with a thorough-bred 
cock. The black bantams pleased us very 
much, but these, too, were ailing, — very 
sickly. The Malays were, of their kind, 
fine ; but they " sing small" whilst the Cochin 
rage continues. 

The pigeons were so badly set off, that 
their beauty was quite lost. People passed 
by them unconcerned, uninterested. This 
was a sad pity. The same remark applies 
to the trio of Indian pigeons, with their 
plumed heads. They were assigned a 
position that caused them to be quite over- 
looked. Yet are they, of their kind, very 
curious and handsome birds. 

There were some fine rabbits. These, too, 
were not made the most of, by any means. 
They deserved a more prominent position, 
and a better light. 

The turkeys, geese, and ducks were — some 
of them, remarkably fine, well-bred birds, 
and attracted much notice. Indeed, great 
interest seemed to prevail throughout the 
entire exhibition, — which, when over, was 
distributed, under the auctioneer's hammer, 
among the public. 

At the head of the staircase, we saw several 
cheap novelties exhibited, which deserve our 
passing good word. One was an iron coop, 
with a brooding-chamber attached, for a hen 
and chickens, — quite portable ; and another 
was a feeding-trough for poultry, so contrived 



as to admit the head of only one at a time, — 
thus preventing waste of corn. It is a 
kind of elongated hopper, — the lid being 
raised by means of hinges. The inventor is 
Mr. Hard meat, of Queen's wharf, Lynn. 
Both articles are made of iron, strongly 
painted, and ought to be in general use. 
A very pretty and ingenious design of a 
" Model Farm," was also exhibited by this 

We hail the introduction of these poultry- 
shows in London, with much cordiality ; and 
believe they will do real good in every way. 
They will create a new feeling in society, 
and they will set certain folk on their mettle 
to produce " something better than has been 
yet seen." 

As the " list of prizes" has been published 
in the newspapers, it would be quite de trqp 
to reprint it here. 



This society held their annual show at the 
Freemasons' Tavern, on the eleventh of Jan- 
uary. A more beautiful collection of fancy 
pigeons never were — never could be, brought 
together in one room. 

The exhibitors and proprietors (how 
happy and animated they all looked !) seem 
well aware of the importance, not only of 
keeping their birds in fine order and fine 
plumage, but of showmg them off to the best 
advantage. Thus, we had them confined in 
elegant and commodious cages of mahogany, 
and placed upon separate tables in the large 
room. Here they could strut and pace lei- 
surely about, displaying at the same time 
their elegant proportions and general excel- 
lencies. From the days of our earliest 
boyhood, pigeons were our delight, our most 
favorite hobby. No birds are more affec- 
tionate, — none better know who loves them 
dearly, and cares for their happiness. This 
" show" was therefore a treat indeed to us. 
Since we first entered our teens, the race of 
pigeons has wonderfully improved. Expe- 
rience has led to the introduction of greater 
varieties ; and their symmetrical propor- 
tions are now more carefully studied. 

The breeds exhibited on this occasion, 
embraced all kinds known to the fancy 
generally ; and that, in great variety. We 
were specially pleased with the Powters of 
Mr. Butt, — majestic, well-bred birds, of rare 
excellence ; the Carriers of Messrs. Esquilant, 
Ball, and Parkinson ; the very choice col- 
lection of pigeons from Saxony, and the Toys 
of Mr. Wicking. Commend us too, most 
highly, to those mottled, short-faced Almond 
Tumblers (there were four pairs of these, we 
believe), in the centre of the room. What 

lovely, dear, delightful little creatures I 
Possessed of these, we should feel "too 
happy !" They were shown, if we remember 
rightly, by Messrs. Esquilant, Payne, and 

Most delighted were we to behold so 
many of our fair countrywomen here ; and to 
see ladies in silks and satins enter so lovingly 
into the spirit of the exhibition. Their 
smiles were neither few nor constrained. 
The "poetical feeling," on which we are 
always harping, seemed, for the time being 
at all events, to have taken possession of 
their hearts. Let us hope we shall be more 
" habitually natural" ere long ; and lay 
aside the artificial as being prejudicial to 
our true character. 

We trust the taste for fancy pigeons will 
never be extinct. They are such beautiful, 
interesting, and engaging little creatures, 
that they really form one of the principal 
enjoyments of a country life. Kept, too, as 
this society keeps them, they awaken all 
the pleasing associations of early life. We 
entered the room with delight ; we quitted it 
with regret. Aye, and the remembrance of 
that room has afforded us many a happy 
moment since. 


If either frost or snow should have pre- 
vented the completion of what ought to have 
been done in January, take advantage of the 
earliest opportunity to make up for the delay. No 
vacant ground should be left undug until this 
time. Yet is that which produced the main 
crop of Potatoes too often seen throughout the 
winter, in the same weedy, rough state as left 
when the crop was taken off ! This ought never 
to be the case ; Should the season be too far 
advanced to crop it with winter greens, dig or 
ridge it immediately. A great deal more harm 
will be clone than a short delay will occasion, if 
the ground be trod or worked when in a wet 
state. Short delays from bad weather are always 
readily made up, by taking advantage of the 
first favorable interval after. If pruning has 
been deferred, it should be finished now. The 
Grape-vine especially should not be delayed, if 
it was not cut in the autumn. Also any trans- 
planting. Next month is a most important one. 
Every preparation therefore should be made be- 
forehand. Creepers should not be delayed pru- 
ning and training neatly. Drooping flowered 
plants should be trained horizontally. Eoses 
and others, upright ; at regular distances, and 
spurred in. 


Beans. — A main Bowing may be made this 
month of the Early Long-pod, in drills three 
inches deep and two feet and a half apart ; but, as 
with Peas, detached rows, a good distance from 
each other, and cropped between, are the best. 



Cabbage. — The August-sown, which were 
pricked out, may now be finally planted, and the 
vacancies of the autumn-set should be made good, 
if not previously done. 

Chives may be divided for increase. This 
useful little plant will grow in any soil or situa- 
tion, and does well planted as an edging to a 
back walk ; it may be used for all purposes for 
which Onions are, early in spring, when they can- 
not be had. 

Onions may now be planted for seed ; draw a 
drill about three inches deep for them, and set 
them one foot apart. 

Peas. — If not put in, sow as recommended last 
month, the first favorable opportunity; those 
60wn will not be much later than the same kinds 
sown in November, and exceed them in point of 
crop. Draw the drills wide at the bottom, and 
spread the seed regularly, which is better than 
huddling them together in narrow drills ; this 
should bo particularly attended to in sowing 
Marrowfats and other branching kinds, which are 
usually sown too thick. 

Kadishes. — Choose a dry and sheltered situa- 
tion for a sowing of early Radishes. They must 
be covered up from severe weather, lor which 
Fern is the best material ; but any light litter 
will do. They must be uncovered at every favor- 
able opportunity. The Scarlet Short-top is the 
best kind to be put in now, and a few Bath or 
Green Egyptian Cos Lettuces may be sown at 
the same time. 

Rhubarb and Sea-Kale may have an increase 
of covering now, to cause their early growth. 
Rhubarb should occupy a corner in every garden, 
however limited ; and the cottager will find it use- 
ful and wholesome for himself and children, from 
its cooling properties. Independent of the cheap 
pies and tarts which are made of the stalks, they 
may be boiled and eaten with bread ; by blanch- 
ing the stalks, which is readily done, they are not 
only improved in flavor and come to perfection 
earlier, but one-half the quantity only of sugar is 
required. To accomplish this, it is but necessary 
to exclude tho light. A large flower-pot or old 
butter-firkin will do, or a few hazel-rods or rails 
covered with fern or straw, or any similar means ; 
as circumstances may dictate. If the crowns have 
been mulched during winter, they will be for- 
warded thereby. 


If new plantations of Strawberries were not 
made in July or August, make them now. The 
old beds should be cleaned, and have a top-dress- 
ing of fresh soil and dung mixed. If in rows, 
they should be dug between, and a little of the 
fresh 6oil spread over the plants. For a small 
garden, Keen'6 Seedlings and British Queens, in 
four-feet beds, top-dressed as above, and renewed 
every three years, will bo found the most produc- 
tive. Prune and tie Raspberries, and make fresh 


In favorable weather, edging of various kind 
may be planted, as Box, Thrift, Daisies, Pinks, 
Polyanthus, and London Pride. Auriculas, Car- 
nations, and other plants, should have free expo- 
sure in mild weather. Ranunculus roots plant in 
mild weather, in rich loamy soil ; draw neat drills 

about two inches deep (if planted in a bed), and 
five inches apart ; choose the roots for having full, 
prominent buds, in preference to size ; choose the 
first week in the month, if possible ; and as in 
their early state of growth they are extremely sus- 
ceptible of frost, some covering should be given if 
it occur. 

Roses. — Chinese kinds, and those of robust 
growth, should now be pruned ; but do not shorten 
strong-growing varieties much, except those shoots 
intended to produce wood for next season. Roses 
may also be planted, and the soil for them cannot 
be too rich. 

Thorn or Privet hedges may be cut. 



Hark ! the bells, with merry peal, 
Hail a happy New- Year' s-day ! 

Let our hearts respond with zeal, 
Gratitude shall tune the lay. 

Cheerful voices we wall raise, 

And begin the year with Praise. 

Storms have visited the earth, 

Thunder, lightning, hail, and rain ; 

Threatening disease and dearth, 

And shipwrecks on the mighty main. 

Earthquakes, too, both far and near, 

Have made.the mighty quail with fear. 

God has shielded us from harm, 

Kindly led us on our way ; 
Brought us with his powerful arm, 

To behold this " happy day." 
We are spared, and living still, 
To adore His holy will. 

Let us bless him for the past, 
Mercy beams on every hand ; 

Verily " our lot is cast" 
In a fair and pleasant land. 

Gracious favor has been shown, 

Countless mercies we have known. 

In this season of delight 

Let us think upon the poor ; 

Hope has made our spirits light, 
God has bless'd our little store. 

Peace has banish'd angry strife, 

Mercy cheers the path of life. 

Hark ! the bells chime merrily, 
Joy is floating in the wind ; 

May the gentle melody 

Waft its influence on the mind ! 

Bless the hearts we love to cheer, 

Crown us with a Happy Year ! 


It is a strange thing, says Bacon, that in sea 
voyages, where there is nothing to be seen but 
sky and sea, men should make diaries ; but in 
land travel, wherein so much is to be observed, for 
the most part they omit it, — as if chance were 
fitter to be registered than observation ! Let dia- 
ries, therefore, be brought into use. — Lord Bacon's 
advice ought to be universally adopted now ; nor 
have we any valid excuse for not adopting it. 




No. XXXIX.- 


BY P. J. GALL, M.D. 

(Continued from page 389, Vol. II. ) 

Let us now pursue another very interesting 
and important inquiry : — 

Does social life give rise to factitious 
qualities or faculties? 

Numberless works contain reveries on the 
natural state of man, and on the number of good 
and bad qualities which, as some say, he has 
acquired, only in social life. In this hypothesis 
we easily start with the supposition, that man 
was made for solitude ; that he has been led, con- 
trary to his nature, to unite himself with other 
individuals, to form a family, a tribe, or nation. 
These new relations, for which he was not 
designed, have caused to spring up in him all 
those vices and virtues, of which, in his natural 
state of insulation, he would for ever have been 

Let us examine, for some moments, the instinct 
of sociability in man and in animals. 

Some animals lead a solitary life, the male even 
separated from the female ; in other species the 
male and female remain united. In some species, 
the parents separate from their young, as soon as 
these are in a state to provide for their subsistence. 
In others, the parents and all the race of the year, 
form a little society till the return of spring, when 
the young ones seek to form for themselves an 
independent establishment ; and, finally, several 
species form flocks, and live in common. In some, 
a single male couples with several females ; in 
others, each male joins for life with his particular 
mate. All these modes of living have always been 
invariable, and are, by no means, the result of an 
arbitrary choice ; an evident proof that insulated 
existence, and social existence, are natural in- 
stitutions for the different species of animals. 

Do not believe, what some naturalists imagine, 
that it is weakness and the need of mutual 
succour which brings together certain species in 
society. While so many powerless insects bring 
forth and live by themselves, why do the gnats, 
the ants, the bees, the hornets, live together by 
thousands ? The fox is more feeble than the 
wolf : but we never see him, like the wolf, asso- 
ciated with several of his comrades : the wren, 
the mock-bird, the linnet, the nightingale, insu- 
lated in our groves, charm our ears by their 
melodious accents ; while the bold sparrow, and 
the babbling rook, assembled by hundreds, 
deafen us from morning till evening. What ad- 
vantage do the linnets, or the sheep, derive from 
their union, when a single hawk, a single dog, 

* Under the title of " Phrenology for the Million," 
we have been reprinting, in English, the Immortal Work 
of Dr. Gall. Thirty-nine papers have already appeared. 
Of these, thirty-eight will be found in our first and second 
volumes. The publication will be continued regularly, 
until completed. We hardly need remark that the 
observations of Dr. Gall possess an imperishable interest, 
both for young and old. His ideas originate subjects 
inexhaustible,— all tending to the welfare of mankind.— 
Ed., K.J. 

can disperse them? Have the headlong boar 
and the powerful bull more need to lend each 
other succour, than the timid hare, and the feeble 
insulated quail ? 

If it be social life which produces certain 
faculties, how do you conceive that each of the 
different species of animals which live in society, 
enjoys faculties so different, so opposite ? How 
should the mere plurality of individuals produce 
so many peculiarities, diversities of instincts, pro 
pensities, and faculties ? 

Let us penetrate still farther into the mysteries 
of nature. Each species of animals is destined 
to fill a void, to accomplish an end in the order 
of things. As soon as a species was ordained 
to live in society, it became necessary that all 
the individuals should be furnished with the 
qualities necessary to attain this end of the great 
family. Each individual must be fitted for tho 
whole society. The qualities of each bee, and 
chamois, and beaver, had to coincide. Accord- 
ing as this general end is different, the faculties 
of tbe individuals of whom a certain number 
is destined to form a society, are equally dif- 
ferent. The establishment of sentinels among 
the bustards ; the direction of the herd by the 
leading chamois ; the common labors divided 
between several individuals among the bees and 
the ants ; the mutual aid which swine and mon- 
keys give each other ; the direction of a flock of 
wild geese, always formed in a triangle in their 
flight ; all these instincts have been given to 
these animals, at the same time as the social 

It is absolutely the same with the human race. 
Man has been destined to live in common. No 
where, and at no period, has man lived alone. 
As far as we can go back into history, man has 
been united in families, tribes, and nations ; and, 
consequently, his qualities must have been cal- 
culated for society. The phenomena which we 
witness in whole races, are no more the effect of 
this union, than those which take place in each 
man in particular. Always, and every where, the 
human race has manifested the same propen- 
sities and the same talents ; always, and every 
where, there have resulted the same virtues and 
the same vices, the same employments and the 
same institutions. There exists no crime against 
which we cannot find a law in the Bible ; 
calumny, theft, usury, incest, adultery, rape, 
murder, had already spread over the earth like 
a torrent. On the other hand, there exists no 
virtue, no moral precept, which has not been 
recommended, no faculty relative to human occu- 
pations, which has not been more or less exer- 
cised. Cain was a laborer ; Abel, a shepherd ; 
the children of Jubal played on all sorts of" wind 
and stringed instruments ; the children of Tubal 
Cain were skilful workmen in iron and copper ; 
Nehemiah established regulations of police, &c. 

The only changes we remark in the progress 
of human society, consist in this, that the same 
propensities, and the same faculties, are exercised 
on different objects, and produce modified results. 
The manners, customs, laws, different religious 
ceremonies of different nations — all rest upon the 
same basis. Every where, men profess to do and 
believe what they regard as just and true ; every 
where, they profess to honor a Supreme Being ; 



every where, there are objects of vanity and 
glory, marks of honor and disgrace ; every •where 
there are masters and servants ; all nations make 
war ; men and women are united in all climates, 
however different their creeds, and the ceremo- 
nies of their union ; every where, there are 
mournings for deceased husbands and wives, 
children, and friends ; and every where is their 
memory honored, whether they embalm their 
bodies, place their ashes in urns, or place over 
them mounds or monuments. Sing your lines 
on the straw, or on the harp ; dress your chiefs 
with feathers or with purple ; your women, with 
flowers or with diamonds ; inhabit huts or 
palaces ; it will be still the same faculties which 
lead man to act within the circle traced for him 
by his Creator. 

But somo think to prove that man is horn 
without propensities and without faculties, and 
that he acquires these faculties merely by social 
life and by education ; by citing the example of 
some individuals found astray in the woods, who, 
having received no education, have all the 
brutality of animals, and appear to he not only 
deprived of human faculties, but even of those of 
the least intelligent animals. 

The objection falls, when we learn that these 
savages found in the forests are ordinarily miser- 
able creatures, of imperfect organisation, as 
M. Eoussel and de Tracy have already remarked. 
The following is the organisation of these pre- 
tended savages : Their heads are found to be 
either too large and affected with hydrocephalus, 
or too small, compressed, and deformed ; almost 
always with a scrofulous constitution ; the eyes 
small, sunken, slightly opened upwards, closen 
horizontally ; the mouth very large, the lips pen- 
dant, the tongue thick, the neck swollen, the 
pace staggering and insecure. Their primitive 
organisation is, therefore, defective ; they are 
real idiots, who can receive no instruction, and 
no education, -and it is this fact which accounts 
for their being found in woods. As they are a 
charge to their families, and, as in certain 
countries the people of the lower classes regard 
these unhappy beings as bewitched or as 
changelings, it often happens, that they expose 
them, or allow them to wander at their will 
without interference. It has even been remarked, 
in hospitals, that these deformed beings have a 
decided propensity for living in forests, and that 
they always try to escape. They told us at the 
hospital at Haina, near Marbourg, that some of 
the idiots whom they kept there made their 
escape, and that in pursuing them they sometimes 
found others who had escaped before, and who 
had nothing more than fragments of clothing. 
We saw near Augsbourg an insane woman, who 
had been found in a wood. At Brunswick we 
were shown a woman completely idiotic ; she had 
been discovered in a wood, lying on her side, with 
her eyes open, but unable to articulate. 

The savage of Aveyron, placed in the deaf and 
dumb institution at Paris, is not different from 
those of whom I have just spoken. He is weak- 
minded to a great degree ; his forehead is very 
little enlarged laterally, and very much com- 
pressed from above downwards ; his eyes are 
small and greatly sunken, his cerebellum little 
developed. We are not able to convince our- 

selves that he had the sense of hearing ; for they 
could not in our presence render him attentive, 
either by calling him, nor by sounding a glass 
behind his ears. His mode of existence is 
tranquil ; his attitude and manner of sitting are 
decent ; it is only remarked that he is constantly 
balancing the upper part of his body and his head ; 
he salutes by inclining his body to the persons 
who arrive, and manifests his satisfaction when 
they depart. The sexual propensity does not 
seem to be active in him. He knows a few letters, 
and even points to the objects which the letters 
designate. In other respects, his favorite occu- 
pation is to restore to their former place any 
articles which have been displaced. Such is the 
result of the hopes which were formed of him, the 
efforts which have been made, and the patience 
and mildness which a benevolent woman has 
shown towards him. We may pronounce, with 
confidence, that these labors will never be crowned 
with any better success. 

The wild man found in the forests of Lithuania, 
who is cited by many authors as an example of 
the powerful influence of education, was certainly 
a similar being. 

When M. de Tracy, in speaking of men in 
general, remarks that the individual who has re- 
ceived education has less resemblance to him who 
has received none, than an egg to a chicken, or 
an acom to an oak, he speaks truth only in 
relation to these unfortunate beings ; but the ex- 
perience of all times has proved, that they remain 
simple, whether they live in forests, or continue in 
the bosom of their family. The most immoderate 
panegyrist of the effects of education, Helvetius, 
is obliged to acknowledge that a favorable or- 
ganisation is the primary requisite of education. 

It is difficult to believe that in our populous 
regions a well-organised man can wander for a 
long time as a savage. Should such an indivi- 
dual be found, who has gone astray from child- 
hood, it is impossible that in his state of insu- 
lation he should have acquired any knowledge 
dependent on instruction. But even in this 
situation, he certainly must have exercised the 
faculties which belong to him as a man. As soon 
as such an individual finds himself in the midst 
of society, he will be seen to develop human dis- 
positions, not only by a prompt imitation of social 
usages, but by his capacity for instruction. It 
will not be possible to imagine, as was done in 
the case of the individuals referred to, that he has 
adopted the mode of living and the character 
of wild beasts. Example and instruction will 
soon change his mode of life ; or if there is no 
change, the subject is an idiot, and education and 
circumstances can only act upon a man so far as 
he possesses the necessary dispositions, and is pre- 
pared for them by his organisation. 

Locke, to demonstrate that the qualities of the 
mind and soul have an accidental origin in social 
life, adduces the case of children, who, according 
to him, still want certain propensities and talents, 
and arc destitute of passions. 

If Locke had been for a single day a mother or 
a nurse of children, he would have seen, in a very 
little time after their birth, the most evident marks 
of their passions, or rather of their affections. " It 
is useful," says Cabanis, " to remark all those 
passions which succeed each other in so rapid a 



manner, and are depicted with so much simplicity 
on the changing face of children. While the 
feeble muscles of their arms and legs can hardly 
execute some uncertain movements, the muscles 
of the face already express, by distinct motions, 
although composed of very complicated elements, 
almost the whole succession of general affections 
proper to human nature ; and the attentive 
observer easily recognises in this picture the 
characteristic traits of the future man. "Where 
shall we seek the causes of these expressions, 
which are composed of so many diverse elements ? 
Where find the principle of these passions, which 
could not have formed themselves at once ? Cer- 
tainly not in the impressions of external objects, 
still so new, so confused, so discordant." 



Some months since, Mr. Editor, you published 
somo observations of mine on the subject of Phre- 
nology. I now beg leave to offer a few remarks 
on the organ and faculty usually called " destruc- 
tiveness." But first, let me say a word or two on 
that of "combativeness," as it is usually called. 

The function of this faculty appears to me, to 
be that of removing or destroying whatever 
causes a painful state in the other faculties, or is 
opposed to their being in a pleasant state. It 
may be called anger, or resentment. If we see a 
man cruellj ill-treating another, our benevolence 
is placed in a painful state, and our resentment 
or anger is kindled against the wrong doer. "We 
feel a desire to injure him. If honors are about 
to be conferred upon us, and some one steps in 
to prevent it, our anger is kindled again ; but if 
we had no benevolence, and no love of honors, we 
should not be angry. The faculty is not spon- 
taneously active, but requires a stimulant. That 
stimulant is an unpleasant state of any of the 
other feelings. A spontaneously active faculty of 
destructiveness, or combativeness, might be found 
in the head of a fiend, but surely not in the head 
of a human being. 

Suppose that when we were hungry, some one 
should run away with our food ; and when we run 
after them they out-ran us, — our alimentiveness 
would be placed in a painful state, and our anger 
would be kindled against the person causing that 
state. And in this way may the anger of the 
lion be kindled against the flying deer. The 
lion looks on the deer as running away with his 
food. If we had to contend with a man for our 
food, we should get angry with him for refusing 
to let us eat. In a similar manner does the lion 
get angry with the bull or elephant, for refusing 
to let him eat them. A pugilist in fighting, geta 
angry with his opponent for refusing to let him 
enjoy the sweets of victory, and for putting his 
sensitiveness (caution) in a painful state. In- 
animate objects are excitants equally with animate 
ones ; and even laws and customs may excite our 
anger towards them. If we see a law or custom 
which produces misery, and thus offends our 
benevolence, we desire the annihilation, or rather 
abolition, of that law or custom. All this appears 
to me so clearly the function of one faculty only, 

that I cannot believe Phrenology will long con- 
tinue to divide what is so simple into two parts. 
Without the possibility of clearly distinguishing 
the separation, every phrenologist must have felt 
the embarrassment occasioned by having two 
fighting faculties (combativeness and destruc- 
tiveness) ; and those who have not got used to it 
will the more readily give up one of them, when 
they find that other and more suitable employ- 
ment has been found for its organ, which I will 
now attempt to do. 

Dr. Gall was in the habit of comparing the 
skulls of the carnivorous and the graminivorous 
tubes of animals, and he at length came to the 
conclusion, that the most marked difference was 
in the region marked number six on the ordinary 
bust (destructiveness, of Spurzheim). In this I 
agree with him ; but I dissent entirely from the 
theory he formed as to its function. I think that 
we might reasonably anticipate that this would be 
found to be the organ of that faculty, in the 
manifestation of which these two tribes of 
animals differed to the greatest extent. Now I 
contend that there is not another faculty amongst 
vertebrate animals — man included — in which 
there is anything like such a marked difference 
as in that of alimentiveness. The graminivorous 
animal has merely to bend his head to the ground, 
and eat his fill. A small and feeble propensity 
to eat, is sufficient to induce him to do so ; whereas, 
the carnivorous "animal has often to travel many 
miles, through many weary days,an search of food, 
and then perhaps to contend for it with animals 
as large and powerful as himself — animals pos- 
sessing formidable weapons of defence, and large 
propensities urging them on to the deadly use of 
those weapons. A class of animals placed under 
such circumstances, requires, indeed, a large and 
powerful propensity to feed ; indeed their . very 
existence is incompatible with a small and feeble 
one. A little mongrel dog in the manger might 
starve an ox or a horse to death, but who shall 
stand between the lion and his prey ? Those who 
have witnessed the feeding of the carnivori in the 
Zoological Gardens, will not easily forget the 
natural language they express of the propensity 
to feed. 

Throughout the whole range of the animal 
kingdom, there is no natural language at all 
to compare with it. No natural language of a 
propensity to kill can be observed , they scarcely 
open their drowsy eyes on the approach of a 
human being; and should an expression of natural 
language escape them, it is merely because they 
see in that human being just simply so much 
food. But just show them a shin of beef, and their 
whole frame becomes agitated, their eyes assume 
a terrible, sparkling, and restless activity, their 
roar is fearful, and they seem to become possessed 
with an all-devouring and intensely-impatient 
desire to get at it. And when reduced to pos- 
session, who shall dare to touch it ? It is never 
safe to touch the food of the smallest and feeblest 
of dogs or cats, yet you may take the hay out 
of the mouth of an ox, or an ass, or horse, and 
tantalise them with it as long as you please. 

The propensity of the carnivori is not to kill, 
but to eat. In point of fact, there is no necessity 
for such a propensity, it is not at all required ; 
the only requisite is a strong and stimulating 

propensity to feed ; the killing is the consequence 
of the eating. It is no more proper to say, .that a 
lion in killing and eating a sheep is actuated by 
one propensity to kill the sheep, and by another 
to eat the sheep, than to say that the sheep is 
actuated by a desire to take away the life of the 
grass, and a desire to eat the grass. The life is 
taken away, in both cases, in precisely the same 

I repeat, there is no faculty to bo found in 
either man or the lower animals, in which such 
great and marked differences exist as in the pro- 
pensity to feed. There are no two tribes of ani- 
mals differ so much in any other particular as 
do the carnivori and herbivori in that of the 
propensity to feed ; and we shall look in vain for 
any other organ in which such a marked difference 
of development is to be found. This argument 
is, if not all-sufficient, of the utmost weight in 
deciding the question. 

Buffon appears to have seized on the voracity of 
the carnivori as theirjnost prominent characteristic. 
He frequently speaks of them as being " gorged 
with prey.'" Of tho tigers, he says, " They tear 
tho body for no other purpose than to plunge their 
head into it, and to drink largo draughts of blood ; 
the sources of which are generally exhausted before 
their thirst is appeased." Of tho lions in cap- 
tivity he says, — "As his movements are impetu- 
ous, and his appetite vehement, we ought not to 
presume that he can always be balanced by the 
impressions of education. It is dangerous, there- 
fore, to allow him to want food too long, or to 
irritate him unnecessarily." Again — "He roars 
at the sight of everything that lives ; every object 
appears to him as a fresh prey, which he devours 
beforehand with the avidity of his eyes. He me- 
naces with frightful groans and tho grinding of his 
teeth, and often darts upon it without regard- 
ing his chains, which only restrain, but cannot 
calm his fury." Of tho jagur, Ho says — "he is 
tho tiger of the new world," and " when his 
stomach is full, he so entirely loses all courage 
and vivacity, that he runs before a single dog. 
Ho is neither nimble nor active, save when pressed 
with hunger." " Of the cougar, he says — 
" Though weaker, he is equally ferocious, and 
perhaps more cruel than the jagur ; ho appears 
to be still more rapacious on his prey ; for he 
devours without tearing it in pieces. As soon as 
ho seizes an animal, he kills, sucks, and eats it 
successively, and never quits it until he is fully 
gorged" Of the two together, ho says — " When 
gorged icith prey, they are both equally indolent 
and cowardly." The wild hog procures his food 
with difficulty. Ho has to plough for a liveli- 
hood ; or, in other words, ho has to root in tho 
ground with his nose ; and we find that his organ 
of alimentiveness is intermediate between the 
graminivorous and carnivorous tribes. Buffon 
speaks of them as follows : — " Their gluttony, as 
formerly remarked, is equally gross, as their 
nature is brutal," and '• though extremely glut- 
tonous, they never attack, or devour other 
animals." Fenelon, in Tclemachus, speaks of 
the " Numidian lion, which cruel hunger devours, 
and which rushes into a flock of feeble sheep — he 
rends, he slays, he swims in blood." 

Here wo have evidence of a propensity such as 
has no equal in the whole range of animal nature. 

The continuance of the species may be dependent 
on other propensities, but the individual exis- 
tence of the animal is dependent on this. It 
cannot go beyond a certain time without food, and 
live. Imagine that time to be nearly spent — 
the animal worn away with want and fatigue, 
yet wandering on in pursuit of food ; and as that 
bodily wasting away increases, so does that pro- 
pensity increase in energy ; and when at length 
food is seen, though that food has been endowed 
by nature with instincts to preserve it from 
becoming food, though it possesses powerful 
means of flight, or deadly weapons of defence, 
combined with courage, sagacity, and health — 
yet the sight of that food is sufficient to com- 
pensate for all that wasting away, for all that 
feebleness. The poor, lame, and weary brute 
becomes on a sudden possessed of strength, 
energy, activity, indomitable courage ; and he 
rushes on to his prey, regardless of danger to 
life and limb, simply and singly actuated by a 
desire to eat. 

But it may reasonably be asked, how is it that 
the most ferocious villains have so generally a 
large development of tho organ in question? 
My answer will be gathered from the following 
remarks : I have observed that, generally, the size 
of this organ is a fair index of the stoutness of 
the person. It appears to me, that immediately 
in front of its organ is located the organ of the 
perceptive faculty of taste, and that there is also 
in contact with it the organ of a faculty which 
influences digestion ; and that the members of 
this group are generally large, or small, together, 
and that when large there is a good digestion, 
and an abundant supply of blood, giving great 
energy to the brain, and body, and making much 
flesh. Bold robbers and murderers exhibit in 
their daring, much energy at the time of action. 
But we may trace a very intimate connection 
betweenthis faculty and crime. Mr. Coombe says, 
speaking of combativeness, — " When the organ 
is large, and excited by strong potations, an 
excessive tendency to quarrel ami fight is tho 
consequence. Hence some individuals in whom 
it is great, but whose moral and intellectual facul- 
ties are capable of restraining it when sober, 
appear, when inebriated, to be of a different 
nature, and extremely combative !" 

A deficiency of food has an effect similar to an 
excess of intoxicating drink. Extreme hunger 
has a sort of maddening effect on tho faculty 
of anger. The fearful effects produced by a want 
of food, and also by intoxicating drinks, are seen 
to an awful extent in the history of tho ship- 
wreck of tho " Medusa, " an account of which 
is published by Chambers, in No. 92 of tho 
Miscellany, from which the following extracts 
are taken : — " Now, maddened with liquor, tho 
folly of tho Mutineers knew no bounds ; and 
they proceeded to cut the lashings that held the 
timbers of the raft together, in order to destroy 
all at a blow." Again, " whilo tho combat still 
raged, some of tho mutineers took occasion to 
throw into the sea, together with her husband, 
the unfortunate woman who was on board" (the 
raft) . To show the severity with which those are 
treated who under such circumstances offend 
against alimentiveness, take the following : — 
<: Two soldiers were discovered drinking wine 



clandestinely from the cask, by means of a pipe- 
As this had been declared to be a crime punish- 
able with death, they were immediately seized 
and cast into the sea." There were originally 
on the raft one hundred and fifty ; and although 
of these one hundred and twenty had perished, 
yet were two of the remaining thirty doomed to 
death for painfully impressing the alimentiveness 
of the other survivors. In these extracts we 
have evidence of the great influence exercised by 
alimentiveness over the other faculties. 

Let us now take the case of a man, having the 
moral and restraining faculties but poorly deve- 
loped, and let him have a largely _ developed 
alimentiveness. We will suppose him to be a 
farm laborer. He will always be on the look-out 
for opportunities of gratifying his propensity. 
Eating and drinking will be to him the acme of 
enjoyment. He will be extremely liable to lose 
his character and employment. He becomes ac- 
quainted with a gang of accomplished thieves 
and burglars; he sees to what extent they 
gratify their alimentiveness, and joins them. 
Henceforth, thieving and carousing occupy his 
whole attention. Thieves and burglars are great 
carousers. How frequently do they in the midst 
of danger give way to their ruling propensity ? 
How frequently have they, after breaking into^ a 
dwelling-house, and after having bound the in- 
mates, sat down to eat and drink, until, as Buffon 
would say, they were fully gorged. They rob and 
plunder, that they may eat and drink " their fill." 
We need not wonder that alimentiveness should 
be found so large in their heads ! 

Again, gross feeding has a sympathetic action 
on the other faculties. Byron declared that beef- 
steaks would make -him ferocious ; and every 
sensitive mind will be aware how much our food 
has to do with our moral conduct. I am backed 
up by the testimony of hundreds of divines, 
magistrates, jail-governors, and others, when I 
assert that the abuse of alimentiveness is more 
productive of crime, than the abuse of all the 
other faculties put together. 

Those who may agree with me in the view I 
have taken, will admire the force of the truth — that 
though the real organ of alimentiveness had been 
given over to another function, yet nature kept 
continually pointing to this region as its seat ; and 
phrenologists were compelled to admit that a 
fullness of this region was accompanied by a love 
of feeding. Most firmly do I believe, that although 
phrenologists of some standing have got used to 
two aggressive faculties, the rising generation of 
phrenologists will very willingly discard one of 
them ; and I can promise them that if they do, 
they will find phrenology much improved there- 

b ^ 

It may be asked, why should a lion or tiger 

kill so many more animals than they eat ? To this I 
would answer, that it is not satisfactorily estab- 
lished that they ever leave an animal, after kill- 
ing it, without drinking the blood, — to which 
they seem to be the most partial ; and I wo lid 
ask in return, why do so many other kinds of ani- 
mals destroy so much more food than they con- 
sume ? Why do the Brazilian monkeys pluck so 
much more fruit than they carry away ? 

J. S. H. 

f npnlnr §iimn. 


Popular Science is now making such 
rapid strides, that the pen can hardly keep 
pace in recording its progress. 

A few days since, we had our attention 
directed by a friend to a little mechanical 
apparatus, called the Stereoscope ; " one of 
the most delightful inventions," as our in- 
formant called it, " of modern times." It 
is so. Let us describe it in few words, as 
we saw it in operation at the " Daguerro- 
type Portrait Gallery " of Mr. Mayall, 
224, Regent Street. 

As we dislike the introduction of techni- 
calities in a popular journal, let us remark 
that the Stereoscope presents all persons 
who have had their likenesses taken by the 
Daguerreotype, with an apparent cameo, or 
raised bust of the same — standing out in full 
relief like marble. 

This is effected, by merely placing a per- 
son's likeness in duplicate, one on either side 
of a small mahogany frame. Immediately 
above each of these, is fixed a magnifying 
eye-glass. By simply looking through this, 
as through a telescope, the likenesses, before 
in duplicate, are seen by an optical illusion 
melted into " one ; " and that one, a raised 
bust ! The effect of this is delicately beau- 
tiful. And as for the likeness, it is so per- 
fect — so completely a fac-simile of the origi- 
nal, that the smallest mark on the counte- 
nance is preserved intact. It becomes, in 
fact, stereotyped. 

This is alone sufficient to immortalise the 
stereoscope. If any pet of ours be possessed 
even of a pimple on her fair skin, let us see 
it in her picture by all means. A miniature 
must be a "likeness," or it loses all real 

Mr. Mayall deserves all we can say in 
praise of his skill ; and we thank him for the 
opportunity he has afforded us, at an inex- 
pensive rate, of throwing so much expres- 
sion into the picture of all we hold dear. 


The very remarkable weather that we 
have had for the last four months, has put 
the virtues of " Pulvermacher's Patent Port- 
able Chain" to a severe test. Rheumatism, 
lumbago, nervous affection, and the various 
bodily ailments peculiar to the season, have 
this year been in unceasing operation, with 
all their baneful effects. 

It was to assist in removing these, that 
the Chain we are now noticing was in- 
vented ; and we are well pleased to be able 
to speak in decided terms of its great, nay 
marvellous utility. It is truly simple in its 



application ; for it has hardly been placed 
round the part affected more than a few 
minutes, before its efficacious power becomes 
manifest. We know very little yet about 
the latent power of electricity ; but this 
magic Chain will go very far towards opening 
our eyes to it. Many of our own friends 
have purchased the Chain ; and they all 
speak of it as having been not only useful 
in relieving them from present pain, but in 
restoring them to a healthy state of body. 
This enables us to give it our unqualified 
good word. 

No family should remain unprovided with 
this Chain. Its cost is a bagatelle ; its 
virtues are unappreciable. 


A " good" Reflector has been a desidera- 
tum long sought for, but never yet found. 
Practical meu have not failed to turn their 
unremitting attention to the subject, yet 
until now without avail. 

Years ago, glass reflectors were produced; 
and coated by a chemical deposition of 
silver. For a thne, they afforded a most 
brilliantly-reflected light. It was found 
however, that although protected from the 
action of the atmosphere, no deposition of 
silver upon glass could ever withstand the 
test of heat or light. Hence, though these glass 
reflectors required no cleaning or rubbing, 
their becoming fearfully discolored after a 
short use, rendered them totally valueless. 
They are now looked at as mere curiosities ; 
for time has converted what was really 
"silver," into the appearance of pewter! 
This decided failure in glass reflectors has 
called into the field another candidate for 
public favor — Mr. Chappuis, who has pro- 
duced a reflector, at a very small cost, which 
bids fair to become universally popular ; nor 
do we see why even our drawing-rooms 
should not be illuminated by its agency. 

The name given to the Reflector of Mr. 
Chappuis, is, — the Daylight Reflector. It 
is worthy of its name ; for it dispenses with 
the use of a very large body of gas, 
whilst it gives the " light of day" at 
almost a nominal cost. This is a grand re- 
sult gained ; and when we consider how 
greatly health must be promoted by its 
adoption (for gas-light, it is well known, is 
most obnoxious in its effects on the system), 
we think we have shown its claims on pub- 
lic regard. 

This reflector, it must be borne in mind, 
is not made of glass; but of a highly- silvered 
metal, prepared so as to enhance the power 
of reflection. The frames, too, are so con- 
structed as to effectually protect the re- 
flector from the action of the atmosphere. 

It is therefore rendered durable. We ob- 
serve that they have been fixed already in 
the principal thoroughfares of London, and 
its suburbs. 

At last, then, we have obtained what we 
have so long sought after — a "good" re- 
flector ; and one of any required size or 
power. The Manufactory, we should add, 
is at No. 10, St. Mary Axe. 


A young man of eighteen or twenty, a student 
in a university, took a walk one day with a pro- 
fessor, who was commonly called the Students' 
Friend — such was his kindness to the young men 
whom it was his office to instruct. While they 
were now walking together, and the professor 
was seeking to lead the conversation to grave 
subjects, they saw a pair of old shoes lying in 
the path, which they supposed belonged to a 
poor man who had nearly finished his day's work. 
The young student turned to the professor, say- 
ing — " Let us play the man a trick ; we will hide 
his shoes, and conceal ourselves behind these 
bushes, and watch to 6ee his perplexity when he 
cannot find them." 

" My dear friend," answered the professor, " we 
must never amuse ourselves at the expense of tho 
poor. But you are rich, and may give yourself 
a much greater pleasure by means of this poor 
man. Put a five shilling piece in each shoe ; 
and then we will hide ourselves." 

The student did so, and then placed himself, 
with the professor, behind the bushes hard by, 
through which they could easily watch the 
laborer, and see whatever wonder or joy he might 
express. The poor man soon finished his work, 
and came across the field to the path where be 
had left his coat and shoes. While he put on his 
coat, he slipped one foot into one of his shoes. 
Feeling something hard, he stooped down and 
found the coin. Astonishment and wonder 
were upon his countenance ; he gazed ujion the 
crown piece, turned it round, and looked again 
and again. Then he looked around on all sides, 
but could see no one. Now lie put the money in 
his pocket, and proceeded to put on the other shoe. 
What was his astonishment when he found the 
other crown piece ! His feelings overcame him ; 
he fell upon his knees, looked up to heaven, and 
uttered a loud and fervent thank sgiving, in 
which he spoke of his wife, sick and help- 
less ; and his children, who, from some unknown 
band, would be saved from perishing. 

Tbe young man stood there deeply affected, 
and with tears in his eyes. " Now," said the 
professor, " are you not much better pleased than 
if you had played your intended trick?" "Oh, 
dearest sir," answered the youth, " you have 
taught me a lesson now, that I will never forget. 
I feel now the truth of the words which I have 
never before understood. — ' It is better to give 
than to receive.' " 

A few more such practical " tricks" as these, 
we should indeed be glad to record. It is an ill- 
omen, when we see the poor neglected, and 
allowed to perish without a helping hand held out 
for their relief. 





Thou bad'st me, dearest, string my harp, 

And wake a song for thee ; 
But ah ! I want thy look of love 

To set its numbers free ; 
I want affection's smile and blush, 

Its meed of gentle praise ; 
Thy lute-like voice's silver gush, 

My drooping soul to raise. 

I want to hear thee softly creep 

To mark each tender line ; 
To feel thee o'er my shoulder peep, 

And lay thy cheek to mine ; 
I want the twilight's silent hour, 

The spell of star and tree, 
The perfume of the shutting flower, 

To breathe my love for thee. 

I want the atmosphere of home 

To melt the icy chain 
Around my heart — to see the bloom 

On thy dear cheek again. 
I want the music of thy tone, 

The honey of thy kiss ; 
And yet, how should I feel alone 

With memories like this ? 

By Babel's stream the exiled Jews 

Hung up their harps, and wept ; 
While in each breast the heavenly muse 

In voiceless sorrow slept. 
Thus o'er my spirit falls a gloom 

Which chains both heart and hand ; 
How shall /sing " a song of home," 

When in a stranger-land ? 

The palm-tree 'mid the desert waste 

Points out the spring below, 
And bids the fainting pilgrim haste 

Where crystal waters flow. 
Like him I fly to that dear home, 
Whose joy-springs never cease ; 

Where gentlest feelings bud and bloom 
Beneath the sun of peace ! 



If Fortune, with a smiling face, 

Strew roses on our way, 

When shall we stoop to pick them up ? 

To-day, my love, to-day. 
But should she frown with face of care, 
And talk of coming sorrow, 
When shall we grieve, if grieve we must ? 

To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 

If those who've wronged us own their faults, 

And kindly pity pray, 

When shall we listen and forgive ? 

To-day, my love, to-day. 
But if stern Justice urge rebuke, 
And warmth from Memory borrow, 
When shall we chide (if chide we dare) ? 

To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 

If those to whom we owe a debt 

Are harmed unless we pay, 

When shall we struggle to be just ? 

To-day, my love, to-day. 
But if our debtor fail our hope 
And plead his ruin thorough, 
When shall we weigh his breach of faith ? 

To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 

If Love, estranged, should once again 

Her genial smile display, 

When shall we kiss her pi-offered lips ? 

To-day, my love, to-day. 
But, if she would indulge regret, 
Or dwell with bygone sorrow, 
When shall we weep (if weep we must) ? 

To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 

For virtuous acts and harmless joys 

The minutes will not stay ; 

We've always time to welcome them, 

To-day, my love, to-day. 
But care, resentment, angry words 
And unavailing sorrow, 
Come far too soon, if they appear, — 

To-morrow, love, to-morrow ! 


The rose is for the nightingale, 

The heather for the lark ; 
But the holly greets the redbreast, 

'Mid winter drear and dark. 
And the snow-drop, wakened by his song, 

Peeps tremblingly forth — 
From her bed of cold, still slumber, 

To gaze upon the earth. 

For the merry voice above her, 

Seemed a herald of the Spring, 
As o'er the sleeping flowers 

Blithe robin came to sing — 
11 Up, up, my lady snow-drop, 

No longer lie in bed ; 
But dance unto my melody, 

And wave your graceful head." 

The bulbul woos the red, red rose ; 

The lark, the heathery dell ; 
But the robin has the holly-tree, 

And the snow-drop's virgin-bell, 
The snow-drop timidly looked out ; 

But all was dim and drear, 
Save robin's merry song that sought 

Her loneliness to cheer ! 

And presently the crocus heard 

Their greeting, and awoke ; 
And donned with care her golden robe, 

And em'rald-colored cloak. 
Then springing from her russet shroud, 

Stepped forth to meet the sun, 
Who broke the clouds with one bright glance, 

And his jocund race begun. 

The crocus brought her sisters too, 

The purple, pied, and white ; 
And the redbreast warbled merrily 

Above the flow'rets bright. 
Oh ! the nightingale may love the rose, 

The lark the summer's heather ; — 
But the robin's consort flowers come, 

And leave the wintry heather. 









Let us all look at life on the bright sunny side, 
Nor heel the dark clouds of Ambition, and Pride: 

We've a smile for the gay, 

And a tear for the sad, 

With a kind word to say. 

That will make the heart glad. 
Come ! will you not join us ? our joys we'll divide ; 
"Whilst we all look at Life on the bright sunny side ! 

As Time leads us on, let it be our delight 
To alleviate sorrow, and kindness requite. 

If God deigns to bless us, 

We've no cause to fear ; 

The doubts that oppress U3 

"Will soon disappear. 
On the ocean of life we will happily glide, 
Our bark rides at anchor on Life's Bonny side ! 

But some we shall meet with, who sadly bewail 
As they see the approach of adversity's gale ; 

" One and all'' bear a hand, 

"We shall soon reach the shore ; 

Now — " three cheers for the land !" 

See the danger is o'er ! 
In the harbour of happiness safely we'll ride, 
And hoist a gay ensign on Life'6 sunny side ! 

By assisting each other, much good may be 

wrought — 
The heart's kindest feeling this lesson has taught. 

With this bright aim in view, 

New delights will appear ; 

Though our friends may be few, 

We have proved them sincere. 
In their truth and fidelity still we confide, 
For we all look at Life on the bright sunny side ! 

But here one has fallen ! Pray give him your hand— 

We're none of us perfect — assist him to stand. 
The pain he has known, 
Makes him wiser I'm sure, 
(You may " cast the first stone," 
Who believe yourselves pure). 

Give him friendly advice, and with Truth for his 

He will yet look at Life on the bright sunny side ! 

And here is another ! weighed down by despair ; 
Let Hope gently lighten his heart of its care. 

Though cloudy the morning, 

The day may be clear, 

And bright stars adorning 

Its close will appear ! 
The fears that hang o'er him will shortly subside, 
If we place all our sorrows on Life's sunny side ! 

Let us banish hypocrisy, pride, and deceit, 

Whilst honesty, truth, and contentment we greet ; 
A kind word or two, 
When the heart is oppressed, 
And " Heaven bless you !" 
With the hand gently pressed — 

Have cherish'd those feelings which Hope has sup- 

With the pleasure of looking on " life's 
suxxy side !" 

There's much in this life, after all, 

That's pleasant, if people would take it ; 
On some of us trouble must fall, 

But sure I am most of us make it. 
Let us look for the tips and the downs, 

And try to take things as we find them ; 
And, if we are met by the frowns — 

Believe that a smile is behind them. 

What have we we did not receive ? 

Is the world not sufficiently roomy ? 
Then why should we wish to believe 

We were sent into life to be gloomy ? 
We may meet with some rubs in our day, 

But don't let us tremble for fear of them — 
Bather hope they'll not come in our way, 

And do all we can to keep clear of them. 

There are regions of quicksands and rocks, 

And its difficult, too, to steer round them ; 
A good plumb-line might save us some knocks, 

But it's no easy matter to sound them. 
For our needle may point the wrong way, 

And our chart do no more than mislead us, 
Till we find that " each dog has his day," 

And a friend's all alive to succeed us. 

But there's much in this life, after all, 
That's pleasant, if people would take it ; 
Though on some of us trouble must fall, 

Full sure I am most of us make it. 
Let us look for the una and the downs, 

And try to take things as we find them ; 
And. if we are met by the frowns — 

Believe that a smile is behind them. 


Snow-stormy Winter rides 

Wild on the blast, 
Hoarsely the sullen tides 

Shoreward are cast ; 
Morn meets no more the lark 

Warbling o'erhead ; 
Nature mourns, dumb and dark — 

Beauty is dead ! 

Sear on the willow-bank 

Fades the last leaf; 
Flower-heads that early sank, 

Bow'd as with grief; 
Autumn's rich gifts of bloom 

All. all are fled ; 
Winter brings shroud and tomb — 

Mary is dead ! 

Sweeter than summer-bird 

Sang from her bough ! 
Music, the sweetest heard, 

Silent is now ! 
Pale lies that cheek of woe 

On its last bed ! 
Winter ! too well I know 

Beauty is dead ! 




O, Winter ! ruler of the inverted year, 
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, 
And dreaded as thou art ! Thou hold'st the sun 
A prisoner in the yet undawning East ; 
Shortening his journey between morn and noon, 
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
Down to the rosy West ; but kindly still 
Compensating his loss with added hours 
Of social converse and instructive ease. 
I crown thee, Winter— king of dear delights, 
Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, 
And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours 
Of long uninterrupted evening know. 


EADEK ! — A word with 
you ! What is comfort ? 
A lounge by our fire-side, on a 
bleak, wintry night — a novel, 
gently wooing us into doziness 
— a snug seat in a post-chaise, 
or a game at cribbage with 
a mild old lady that never takes snuff. What 
is comfort ? — a cup of tea, " with all appli- 
ances and means to boot ?" Yes ; tJiis is a 
snatch of legitimate comfort ; and his imagi- 
nation must be very anti-social, that does not 
summon a thousand tea-table delights from 
the dead mass of joys that time leaves behind 
it, at the mention of a cup of tea. Around 
the tea-pot, unnumbered social sprites attend; 
and after wreathing the steam clouds rising 
from the urn, tinkling the spoons, and perching 
on the edge of the tea-cups, they place a 
smile on the lips, and a merry magic in the 
eyes of the company assembled. 

Reader ! be thou downy -cheeked, or man- 
fully bearded — be thou fair and young, or 
old and stately, prithee, for a while, smoothen 
thy face into placidity, lay aside all Miltonic 
sternness of aspect, draw near the fire ; and 
then, with its pleasing glare playing over thy 
features, thou mayest have a fair chance of 
relishing a few remarks on " a cup of tea." 
If the winds are whistling and waltzing along 
the streets, and the plashy pit-pat of pattens is 
heard on the sloppy pavements, so much the 
better. Discomfort without, will increase the 
comfort within. 

Lord Byron calls gin-and-water the true 
Hippocrene. Give me a good strong cup of 
tea ! — one cup of this, in its sterling state, is 
worth all the spirituous liquors put together. 
It is very seldom that intoxication ensues from 
drinking tea : its influence is quite ethereal ; 
it trickles down the throat in a most luscious 
stream of flavory richness, diffuses a comfor- 
table warm vigor through the democratical 
part of the human frame, composes the 
temper, and makes the poorest personage feel 
himself a man. 

Nobody that dislikes tea ought to be ad- 

* See Vol. I., page 172. 

mitted within the pale of civilised society. If 
a man be pointed out to me as a tea hater, 
he immediately becomes a suspected person 
in my mind. He cannot, I fancy, be any 
thing approaching to " a right merrie fellowe." 
A regular, giggling tea-party, would not en- 
liven him ; he would sit down in silent sadnes3 
amid the busy clatter of their cups and sau- 
cers — a mere automaton. 

Some people say, that tea is by no means 
wholesome, that it frequently occasions a ner- 
vousness, and is altogether unqualified for 
constant use. This is a most wicked ac- 
cusation, and must have originated from some 
decrepid personage, who was malicious enough 
to ascribe the effects of youthful intemperance 
to tea ; or, what is more probable, it arose 
from the mischievous spirit of innovation per- 
taining to the medical art. It really is quite 
melancholy to observe the influence of me- 
dical pedantry over some people ; there is 
hardly anything upon the bountiful earth but 
what is unhealthy. Butter creates bile, milk 
and eggs are heavy, cold pie indigestible, 
meat unnecessary, and tea is guilty of occa- 
sioning nervousness ! A genuine cup of un- 
adulterated tea will hurt no man living, who is 
in a sound state of health. If he feels 
" nervous " after drinking it, he has no reason 
to charge the tea with the cause ; the evil 
comes from some other quarter. 

Tea unwholesome ! Place me before the 
tea-table ; and I'll face the whole College of 
surgeons, in defence of its manifold virtues. 
They might batter me with learned compound 
words, and disquisitions respecting the fid- 
getty nature of the stomach, but they could 
never annihilate the fact of its being the na- 
tional beverage for so many years. If tea 
were really so malevolently inclined as they 
would represent it, people would not have 
continued its constant consumption : — ill- 
health, a more influential argument than any 
in Mr. Abernethy's " Book," would have 
banished it from our tables. And I should 
like to know, what we are to substitute for 
tea ! — black draughts and liquified pills ! or 
those brick-colored, clammy looking cakes, 
christened chocolate and cocoa ! or meagre 
sugar and water, such as they use in France ! 
or that gritty, gravelly stuff, called coffee ! 
That man's taste is not to be envied who 
prefers either of these to tea ! Tea stands 
apart from all these, in proud and peerless 
dignity — like an ancient jug on a dresser, amid 
a crowd of modern smooth-faced rivals. 
From this devotion to tea, my opinion of those 
who can presume to offer their guest a weak 
and miserable cup, may be easily guessed. It 
is one of the most sinful acts that can be 
committed — for people, in good circumstances, 
to offer weak tea to their company. What ! 
toprofane the beautiful,health-inspiring water 
with a niggard sprinkling of tea — to hand 

Vol. III.— 4. 



this ignoble mongrel kind of mixture to a 
guest ! Let the reader deeply consider the 
matter, and he will agree with me, that it is 
in the highest degree sinful. It is bad, sloppy 
tea that brings on nervousness ; this is the 
foundation of those sickly influences fre- 
quently felt, after drinking tea, so denoted. 

My principal admiration for Dr. Johnson 
is founded on his affection for tea. There is 
something so amiable about this, that it 
makes one forget all his stern, uncompro- 
mising whims and tempers. Yes, I can easily 
picture the " Colossus of English literature," 
sitting at a well -furnished tea-table, under the 
reverent shadow of his wig; and complacently 
watching the golden stream of tea descending 
in a glittering curve from the tea-pot into 
his cup. The author of Rasselas — the grave 
and lofty-minded writer of the Idler and the 
Rambler — the Socrates of Britain — descend- 
ing from his intellectual height for awhile, 
and smiling with as much naivete as a laun- 
dress, over a cup of tea! 

The sound of approaching tea-things is al- 
ways renovating to me ; the rattle of the 
tray — the homely jingle of the spoons tumb- 
ling about among the cups — the whole bustle 
of the tea-arrangement, is truly agreeable. 
We all remember Cowper's lines on this sub- 
ject ; yet one circumstance escaped him — the 
hollow, but cheering, bubbling of the water, 
as it dashes from the " loud-hissing urn," 
into the tea-pot, to uncurl the leaves and 
extract their essence. 

I am an enthusiastic lover of tea ; and for 
many substantial reasons. Some of the hap- 
piest hours of my life have been experienced 
at the tea-table ; and now, when left fevered 
and fretful from hours of changeful study, my 
heart leaps up at the well-known music of the 
brittle ware. After the first cup of fragrant 
Souchong, the peevishness of study dies away; 
my heart gradually tranquillises, and I begin 
to think that the world may boast of contain- 
ing something good, while it can afford me 
a cup of good tea. 

The tea-hour is moreover, a congenial 
time for reflection. While the faint fairy 
clouds of steam come swelling from the tea, 
and shed an imperceptible dew upon the face, 
a man very frequently repents of his faults 
— provided there be no danger of his toast 
cooling during the time. And how many a 
one, who sat down to tea with evil passions 
brewing in his brain, has gradually become 
ashamed of his purpose, and tapped them 
away with his spoon on the edge of his tea- 
cup ! 

A principal reason for the popularity of 
tea beverage in this country, is its compara- 
tive cheapness. Many a one can afford to 
give a friend a good cup of tea, when a dinner 
would create a terrible sensation in his purse. 
Some will object to " cheapness " applied to 

tea ; but, however dear in itself, compara- 
tively, it certainly is cheap. A quarter of a 
pound of tea, with the addition of a few solids, 
will treat two or three small parties. Com- 
pare the price of the tea with the cost of 
spirits or wine, for the same hospitable pur- 
pose, and there will be a wide difference. 
In short, tea is altogether the most gentle- 
manly (or, if you will have it so, ladylike), 
accommodating thing in the world. It 
offends nobody — not even those who dislike 
it ; while it is a blessing to thousands of every 
rank and fortune. 

A cup of tea is as convenient, too, as it is 
refreshing ; it is an admirable addition to a 
casual invitation, and generally secures 
your guest ; not that he comes precisely for 
the sake of the tea, but because the mention 
of it stamps the matter with a little im- 
portance. Were it not for tea, the life of a 
bachelor would be ten times more mono- 
tonous than it now is. He could not expect 
his friends and acquaintances to sit in his 
chairs for six hours together, and favor him 
with their converse, without something eata- 
ble and drinkable to vary the scene. Now, 
if there were no tea to be obtained, some- 
thing else must be substituted for it ; but, 
probably, his income is too limited for such 
a display of decanters as he may wish to 
receive his friends with. What is to be done 
in this dilemma ? Why, he must debar him- 
self from meeting his friends ! But, thanks 
to a cup of tea ! the poorest among us may 
venture to invite a friend occasionally, and, 
by means of Souchong, improve the strength 
of his attachment without degrading the 
character of his own hospitality. 

Speaking of inviting a friend to drink tea 
with us — if the reader be as warm-hearted 
as I would have him to be, his memory will 
rouse at the mention of this, and recall the 
image of many a face, whose benevolent fea- 
tures have brightened round his winter fire, 
while tea, toast, and conversation inspired 
the hour with delight. One of my greatest 
pleasures, is to meet with an old school-fellow 
whom the hurly-burlies of life have separated, 
and secure his company to drink a cup of tea 
with me. Previous to his arrival, I take 
care to have my apartment in neat order. 
The writing desk is locked, all books are 
laid aside, particular orders are given to the 
servant respecting the management of the 
muffins, &c, &c. The hour for tea is fixed ; 
and then I turn myself to the fire-place, rest 
my feet on the hobs (very ungenteel !), and 
await with the most delightful anticipations 
the arrival of my friend. Hark ! that was 
his knock — I hear his well-known step on 
the stair-case — he taps at the door — 'tis 
he ! and now for something like happiness. 

If the weather be stormy, so much the 
better. We are comfortably sheltered in a 



warm room ; — let the sleet and the hail pepper 
the window panes ; let the sullen winds 
bellow around the chimney-top, and the 
hissing flow of the street-drains come on our 
ear. We are unchilled by the tempest ! — a 
blazing fire is crackling merrily before us ; 
and the only wish we feel at present is — that 
everybody were as happy as ourselves. 

What delicious hours are these ! One of 
them is worth the mock and formal page- 
antries of ten thousand balls and masquerade 
nights. All the treasured recollections of 
greener years ; all those kindly fancies which 
flash across the hearts of friends during their 
absence from each other, are now brought 
forward, with unaffected truth. The soul un- 
burdens itself of a load of fondness, andrevels 
in the sweet release. The tricks, the perils 
of school-boy days, come in for their share of 
discussion ; the changes that have occurred 
since that wild time are next regarded ; and 
here, alas ! we are sure to find sad gaps. 
There are many honest sighs to be heaved at 
the mention of some brave fellow, whose boy- 
hood promised a manhood of glory ; whose 
bright eyes have long been quenched by the 
damp of death. Still, there is a luxury even 
in this ; the melancholy we feel serves but to 
temper the gladness of the hour, and hallow 
the emotions of the mind. The last subject 
is, generally, concerning our mutual fortunes. 
Each of us has met with some hard rubs in 
his way ; nevertheless, we are still inclined 
to hold out a friendly hand to the world, 
forgive its injuries, and forget everything but 
its benefits. And thus the evening glides on, 
and the heart seems bathing in the delights 
of friendship. — He that cannot relish such a 
night is a Goth. 

In order to appreciate justly the delectable 
charms of a cup of tea, we have only to re- 
member the joy with which we return to it, 
and taste it in the full perfection of its flavor, 
after a wearisome illness. During our ma- 
lady, taste has been blunted by fever ; and, 
principally, by the eternal and dismal ope- 
ration of turning the throat into a morning- 
tunnel for the conveyance of thick beetle- 
colored draughts, and similar liquids, indus- 
triously supplied by our anxious apothecaries. 
Of course tea, with its genuine effects on the 
nerves of the tongue, is out of the question 
while we are in this state. At last, the health- 
tints begin to bud on the cheek ; the wan eye 
grows bright ; the blood once more meanders 
unfevered through the veins, and the restored 
patient finds himself seated at the breakfast- 
table with the freshness of health clothing his 
limbs. Now is the time for a cup of tea ; 
bring forth the tea-apparatus ! Let the urn 
once more exhibit its august en-bon-point 
person ; spread forth the rolls in all their 
crusty glory ; let the eggs lift up their milky 
brows; draw your chair to its accustomed situ- 

ation ; give the fire a powerful poke— and 
do your duty. With what a grateful smile 
you survey the room, and mark the morning 
sunbeam skipping about the walls, and tinting 
everything with its hue of gladness, while 
the hot crystal stream is prancing into your 
tea-pot ! How pleasant are the tuneless mur- 
murs of the street, after your long confinement 
to the mournful and monotonous silence of 
the sick chamber ! How exquisite that still- 
breathed prayer, exhaling from the very core 
of the soul — that prayer, whose fervency 
language could not translate — to the blessed 
God of all health and wisdom, for your re- 
covery ! 

But I won't detain you ; I hear the sugar 
hissing itself away in the bosom of your 
tea-cup ; there is a rich and glossy brown- 
ness on the surface of your tea — enjoy it ! 


'Tis merry in the hall, when beards wag all, 
And welcome merry Shrovetide. 


If we have cause to lament the degene- 
racy of some of the classes making up Eng- 
land's population, in manliness of character 
and physical strength, and to blush for the 
silly foppery and affectation of others, who 

" Strut and stare, and a' that," 

"perfumed like milliners," and talking like 
"waiting gentlewomen" — we have, at the same 
time, no little cause for gratulation and plea- 
surable reflection, in contrasting the present 
pastimes and amusements of the " uneducated'* 
many, with those of the times gone by. In 
former days, they were wont to testify their 
devotion, and to assert their Christian prin- 
ciples, by deeds of barbarism and blood. 
Christian festivals were the high days of 

" Moloch, horrid king, besmear'd with blood ," 

upon which clerics and laics appeared as if 
sedulously bent on giving new vigor to the 
worst passions of the human soul, and in gra- 
tifying them even to satiety, regardless of 
the miseries which they spread around. 
Upon Good Friday, when they celebrated the 
death of Him who " did no violence," but who 
breathed " peace on earth and good-will to- 
wards men," they wreaked their vengeance 
upon some unhappy Jew, whom they way- 
laid and stoned ; and upon Shrove Tuesday, 
when they were required to humble them- 
selves, by a confession of sin, that so they 
might become partakers of their master's 
sufferings and joy, they concluded their de- 
votions with the barbarous practice of " hen 
threshing," or the equally cruel " sports" of 
" cock-fighting," and " throwing at the hen." 
These barbarities have happily passed away, 

e 2 



and the harmless and child-loving practice of 
eating pancakes is all that remains of " the 
wisdom of our ancestors." 

Tuesday, February 8th inst., will be the 
day of which we speak ; and it may not be 
unacceptable to some of our readers, if we 
devote a little space to its origin and former 

The word shrove, by which this Tuesday is 
distinguished in the calendar, is a corruption 
of the old Saxon word shrive, and signifies con- 
fession ; this being the day upon which all 
the people were required by the Church to 
confess their sins to their respective parish 
priests. To ensure punctuality in their 
attendance, the curfew-bell was tolled at an 
early hour, and all servile work ceased. 

In Catholic countries, where the Carnival 
is celebrated, this is the last day of that fes- 
tival — a period of dinners, balls, masquerades, 
and popular indulgence. On the nights of 
the Carnival, a general confusion takes place ; 
masters are dressed as servants, valets as 
masters, the military as mechanics, and work- 
men as soldiers ; every one puts on a strange 
dress, and plays the incognito under the 
favor of a mask ; but the populace engross 
the remainder of the fete, by carrying through 
the streets an image called the Carnival or 
Shrove Tuesday ; and, feigning grief and 
uttering piercing cries, they throw it into the 

We borrow, says Pasquier, many things 
from the Pagans ; as, instead of the ancient 
Bacchanalia, we have introduced the Car- 
nival, full of insolence and bad examples. 
The Bacchanalia were festivals which the 
Greeks borrowed from the Egyptians, and 
were celebrated in honor of Bacchus, whom 
they believed to be the same with Osiris. One 
of the most essential parts of the festival 
was to appear covered with the skins of he- 
goats, tigers, and other animals ; their faces 
being smeared with blood or wine-lees. A 
fine, handsome, well-fed youth was selected 
to personate Bacchus, who was placed in a 
car ; and to give an air of the marvellous to 
the scene, the pretended tigers drew the car, 
while the he-goats and the kids gambolled 
about them under the form of satyrs and fawns. 
Those who followed and accompanied the car 
were called Bacchants and Bacchantes ; that 
is, male and female mourners : last of all, ap- 
peared an old man, representing Silenus, 
riding on an ass, and distributing his jokes 
and gibes among the surrounding populace. 
Thus the balls and masquerades of the French 
may, perhaps, derive their origin from these 
religious ceremonies of their ancestors. On 
the last day of the Carnival, they celebrate 
the ceremony of the " Femmes folles, " or 
foolish women ; but this is the case only 
when any one has commenced housekeeping 
in the course of the year. The married wo- 

men (not the youngest in the village) meet 
together, and disguise themselves by putting 
the front part of their caps behind, to which 
rags are suspended, and by blacking their 
faces : thus arrayed, they proceed dancing 
and singing, to the domicile of the new house- 
keeper. Having gained admittance, they 
leap, jump, and dance about, and sing coup- 
lets and songs adapted to the occasion, and 
to the music of the epistle at grand mass. The 
inhabitants of the house are bound to regale 
the actresses in this burlesque scene ; and, if 
they refuse, the women make no scruple of 
taking away what furniture they like ; and 
carrying it to the wine-house ( cabaret), it is 
there deposited as a pledge for the entertain- 
ment they may choose to order ; and the pro- 
prietor of it must pay the cabaretier his bill, 
before he is allowed to redeem his effects. 

It is said that the custom of eating pan- 
cakes on this day is an English one, and ori- 
ginated, early in the fifteenth century, with 
one Simon Eyre, a Lord Mayor of London, 
who made a pancake-feast for all the appren- 
tices in London ; and ordered that, upon 
ringing a bell in every parish, still called the 
pancake bell, these youths should leave work 
for the day. In Pasquier's ' Palinodia 1 (1634) 
it is merely said, that on this day every 

" Till it can hold no more, 
Is fritter-filled, as well as heart can wish ! 
And every man and maide doe take their turn, 
And toss their pancakes up for fear they Lurne ; 
And all the kitchen doth with laughter sound, 
To see the pancakes fall upon the ground." 

But pan cake- eating was not, as we have 
already intimated, the only pastime in which 
our forefathers indulged. " Upon this day," 
says an old author, " men ate and drank and 
abandoned themselves to every kind of spor- 
tive foolery, as if resolved to have their fill 
of pleasure before they were to die." Foot- 
ball, and snow-ball — if the snow remained 
upon the ground — were amongst the sports 
of the festival ; and the " city 'prentices," 
dear lads for a brawl , which they loved the 
better if it assumed the character of a serious 
riot — turned out 

11 In Finsbury-fields ; — their brave intent 
To advise the king and parliament," 

whenever they took it into their wise heads 
that their advice was needed ; and otherwise, 
when the day was spent in any other way 
that pleased their 'prenticeships. 

The shying at the hen was the worst " sport" 
indulged in. The poor bird was tied by its 
leg to a stake; and he who first broke its leg, 
by a large stick thrown from a certain dis- 
tance, was entitled to the prize. The school- 
boy practice of shying at leaden cocks, is 
doubtless a harmless imitatiou of this brutal 
pastime. The cock-fighting of this season is 



mentioned by Fitzstephens, who died at the 
latter end of the twelfth century. He says : — 

'* Yearly at shrove- tide, the boys of every 
school bring fighting- cocks to their masters ; 
and all the fore noon is spent at school, to see 
these cocks fight together. After dinner, all 
the youth of the city goeth to play at the 
ball in the fields ; the scholars of every study 
have their balls ; the practisers also of all 
the trades have each their ball in their hands. 
The ancienter sort, the fathers, and the weal- 
thy citizens, came on horseback, to see these 
youngsters contending at their % sport, with 
whom, in a manner, they participate by mo- 
tion ; stirring their own natural heat in the 
view of the active youth, with whose mirth 
and liberty they seem to communicate " 

Let us thank God, and the schoolmaster, 
that these brutalities have disappeared ; and 
that we have nought of the old customs left, 
but the fritters and the pancakes. 

We care not how often we are called upon 
to pay our compliments to the two last. 


" Shall I tell your fortune, good gentle- 
man?" said a sweet, musical voice, as we 
were gazing on a group of swarthy beings 
busily employed in preparing a Gipsy encamp- 

We turned, and beheld a young creature, 
slightly formed, with a complexion that might 
vie with the lily : a winning smile irresistibly 
aided her request, and we were prevailed on 
to listen to her prognostics of the future — mar- 
velling how so fair a being could have aught 
in communion with the rude group around 
her. Regarding us intently for a few seconds, 
she sighed involuntarily, and pressed her 
hands over her eyelids, as if to control a 
sudden and unexpected emotion. 

" Stranger," said she, " you are young, 
and doubtless happy ; pardon me if I seem 
intrusive, but I would not cast a shade on 
a brighter lot than my own. You have a 
wife that loves you dearly, is it not so ? You 
need not answer me, I can see it in your 
looks. You have a father," she proceeded in 
a faltering voice — "would that mine still sur- 
vived to guide my steps in this world of woe! 
Alas ! the poor Gipsy has little to expect on 
earth save contempt and abhorrence ! " 

Here her feelings overcame her, and she 
wept violently : we tried in vain to resist 
the infection, but every look at her sorrowful 
features weakened our stoicism, and at last 
we fairly began to use our handkerchief. 
Pressing a gold piece into her hand, we turned 
away, anxious to conceal our emotions. 

Ere we had proceeded far, a most unsenti- 
mental laugh caused us to look back ; and to 

our horror, we beheld the lovely maiden dis- 
playing our purse and handkerchief, which 
she had contrived to abstract during our 
momentary fit of compassion. We could not 
bear the sight of a number of unwashed 
ferocious-looking wretches, listening eagerly 
to her account of our credulity; so we turned 
rapidly down a bye-path ; and safe at home, 
threw our affectionate wife into hysterics by 
our description of the too interesting Gipsy 




Piping Bullfinches. — My Dear Mr. Editor, — 
The readers of our own Journal will no doubt 
like to hear, what they ought all to know ; viz : 
the manner in which these birds are taught the 
various airs, in the execution of which they show 
so much excellence. They are not instructed here, 
hut in Germany. They arrive in England about 
April. The month of June is the time for taking 
the young ones, in a wild state, from the nest, 
They should he about eight days old when so 
removed. They are then handed over to the care 
of one man only, who, by feeding and caressing 
them, becomes so much the object of their notice 
as to he able to command and direct them, at his 
pleasure. They are attended to by him until they 
are about two months old, at which age they first 
begin to whistle. They then go through a regular 
routine of "exercises *," nor is the strictest mili- 
tary discipline more arduous to the sergeant, or 
more oppressive to. the men, than are these exer- 
cises to the bullfinch and his instructor. In 
receiving the first rudiments of their musical 
education, they are taught in "classes" of about 
six in each. They are naturally "imitative." 
The instrument by which they learn, is a barrel- 
organ of a single diapason. It plays nothing 
beyond the air to he acquired by the birds. The 
pupils, before they make their first essay, are 
kept very hungry. They are then placed in a 
dark room — the organ in the centre — and the air 
is slowly played over to them. Hunger works 
wonders, and most of these little imitators make 
the most of Nature's gifts. Children cry, dogs 
howl, and asses bray, always louder and oftener 
when they feel the " vulture in their jaws." It 
is just so with these vocalists. They make a 
virtue of necessity. The moment they imitate 
the organ, at that moment the light is admitted 
into the room, and a morsel of food is given them. 
This is repeated so often — use is second nature — 
and works upon them so mechanically, that the 
sound of the organ is a sure presage of their being 
fed. When they have been thus drilled for about 
a month, their old feeder, called in Germany 
Lehrer, hands them over to the care of some 
intelligent boy, kept for the purpose of playing the 
organ to their pupils. Each boy takes a bird, and 
during these exercises,, or rather rehearsals, they 

* Under this head, we shall contrive to give (by a 
peculiar mode of condensation) much and very valuable 
matter, on a multitude of interesting topics. The sub- 
jects introduced will be inexhaustible, and constantly 



are occasionally visited and always fed by their 
old teacher. His duty, now, is to check or en- 
courage them in their " piping," by various motions 
of the head and mouth, according to the degree 
of excellence they have attained in music. "When 
they repeat the same stave twice, he scowls and 
blows upon them. When they perform correctly 
he waves his head like a " Great Mogul," and 
shows signs that he is pleased. These motions 
the birds perfectly comprehend ; and by dint of 
perseverance on the part of the teacher, and 
practise on theirs, they acquire the habit of piping 
that never leaves them till death. Now, as regards 
the teaching of these birds — imitative though they 
be, it must be tiresome, indeed ! It must be 
remembered, that one false note renders a bird 
" faulty." Herein the difficulty ! Our English 
bullfinches have no song. It is a mere twitter. 
They are pretty birds, truly, and very affectionate, 
but cannot be named among song-birds. The 
value of "German piping bullfinches," ranges 
from one guinea, upwards. They must never be 
purchased of people who deal in parrots, or indeed 
any " noisy" birds. Bought at such places they 
are valueless, as you must be well aware. — 

Emma T , (an old fancier,) Belgrave Square. 

[We think you, Madam, for this kind and 
friendly communication, which we know to be very 
correct in all its details. Our English bullfinch 
is, as you say, not musical, but "very affection- 
ate." We shall have much to say in his praise, 
when his turn comes round, in our series of 
" British Song and Cage Birds." The suggestion 
in your note, about the nightingale and black- 
cap, shall most assuredly be borne in mind. We 
never can, never will, lose any opportunity of 
singing their praises. They will be here again 
in ten weeks ! ] 

Rooks. — I crave your advice, Mr. Editor, in a 
matter of difficulty. I am particularly fond of 
rooks ; and have been well pleased to find myself 
surrounded by them — my house being situate 
near some large trees used by the rooks as a 
colony. Now, unfortunately, the nests of my 
favorite birds have been robbed by idle boys. 
This has so disconcerted the rooks, that they 
have taken their departure. There are now no 
nests remaining in the trees ; although the birds 
are still numerous in the neighborhood. Can you 
tell me, my dear Sir, how I can entice them 
back ? — Frederica. 

[The removal of the nests from your trees, is 
deeply to be regretted. Birds so disturbed sel- 
dom, if ever, take kindly to their original haunts. 
There are no direct means to entice them back, 
unless you could have a quantity of artificial 
nests placed in their old positions. This might, 
at a future time, induce some stragglers to re- 
connoitre ; and if undisturbed, they might be pre- 
vailed on to remain. It is worth an effort to re- 
pair "the mistake" committed. A recurrence of 
it, we need hardly say, would render all further 
attempts at a reconciliation fruitless.] 

The Cockatoo. — This, Mr. Editor, is a charm- 
ing species of bird ; and so affectionate ! Pray 
mention this in our Journal, for the sake of 
invalids, who can have no more faithful and fond 
associate in the time of sickness. I have had 

two of these birds. One is dead ; but the sur- 
vivor is equally attached as the other was. He 
keeps guard over me, whilst I sleep ; and no per- 
son dare approach me unless he pleases. Even the 
doctor, if he chances to give me pain, " suffers" 
for it ! AVhen I leave the room, my drawers are 
carefully watched ; and nothing is ever permitted 
to be removed from the table. When I have 
been moaning, from excessive pain, and any one 
has remained with me an undue time — woe be to 
them ! My watchman has flown at them by 
way of a hint, and followed them to the door, 
pecking all the way at their feet. For himself, 
he cares nothing — he eats little indeed ! All his 
delight seems in watching my progress. He 
has Ins liberty in doors and out of doors ; but he 
never attempts to leave the premises. — Patience, 

Timidity and Ferocity combined. — The ready 
insertion you have given, Mr. Editor, to my 
many little anecdotes of animals, induces me to 
6end you yet another curious fact. Some little 
time since, I had a puppy six months old. He 
was of a middle size ; and would run and yelp 
at the sight of another dog, however small. Now 
there was a large and savage bull-dog, living two 
doors off, in the village of Twickenham. This 
beast, from some unascertained cause, would 
seek every opportunity to worry my puppy, who 
bore all patiently. One day however, a very wet 
day, the bull-dog rolled the puppy in the mud, — 
keeping him there until he was nearly smothered. 
However, being hard pressed, and fearing for his 
life, the little fellow turned round and showed 
fight. His first sharp teeth were just grown. 
With these, he seized his enemy by the side of 
the neck. In the struggle to retain his hold of so 
powerful an adversary, the carotid artery was 
severed. Blood streamed out, and the bull-dog 
lay prostrate — He was dead ! This did not 
" satisfy" his conqueror, who forthwith turned a 
bitter enemy to all his race. No dog could pass 
him without insult, or undeserved punishment. 
He flew at them all ! nor would he accept chas- 
tisement from me, his master. One day he 
attacked a little boy, who was upon the' premises, 
just as I returned home in my "jockey-boots" from 
a long ride. I immediately struck him with my 
whip. He turned upon me at once, and furiously 
bit through the double leather of my boot. 
Next day, my man said to me, — " Master ! you 
will soon lose ' Bounce ;' his name is ' up,' 
ever since he settled the bull-dog.' True words 
these ! Within a week he was stolen. He dis- 
appeared in the night, and I afterwards learnt 
that his new prescribed duty was to be the guar- 
dian of a barge on the Kiver Thames. His sire 
was a retriever, between the setter and Newfound- 
land ; his dam was a Blenheim spaniel. He 
had a twin brother, the bravest sporting dog I 
ever knew. He would leap from a rock fifty or 
more feet high into the water, to recover the 
game his master had shot. I gave him to Mr. 
Thomas, of Teddington. — Verax. 

More of the " Blue-Cap." — Do not look grave 
Mr. Editor, when I tell you I once had a bird, 
who of his own free-will would " live in a cage." 
You may say it is unnatural ; and so it is — an 



unnatural fact ! How my little pet made the dis- 
covery that there is " no place like home," I will 
tell you. He was one of the blue-caps, some of 
whose many virtues you so pleasantly recorded in 
No. 22 of our Journal. I reared five young 
ones from the nest ; and for their joint accommo- 
dation, I had a cage constructed which I imagined 
would suit their habits nicely. It gave them 
plenty of room to live in, and made them an excel- 
lent play-ground. I used, almost daily, to let 
them out to fly about the room ; and of all funny 
birds they were surely the funniest ! The bare 
recollection of their diverting gambols and inde- 
scribable antics, makes me laugh as I write. One 
day, instead of five, we discovered there were only 
four of our little friends present. No doubt the 
absentee had clung, unperceived, to the dress of 
some one passing in or out of the room, and had 
disappeared with them. We sought him far and 
near — in-doors and out of doors ; up stairs, down- 
stairs. Still, no glimpse of his person ; still, no 
sound of his voice. Two days and two nights 
passed away. I gave the wanderer up as lost 
— consoling myself that he had not taken flight 
in the winter, when the weather would have 
been cold. On the^third clay, in flew Master 
Tommy, at the open window, — perching on my 
head, and then creeping all over me by way of 
recognition. How delighted he was ! How de- 
lighted I was ! Our greeting over (and a warm 
one it was), I placed him among his old com- 
panions. Then was his joy complete. Never, 
however, could I get that little fellow (without 
great coaxing) to leave his cage again ; and then 
he would venture to a very little distance, — re- 
turning again immediately. Once, and once only, 
was the harmony of that little family interrup- 
ted ; and that was not until they had lived 
together for three years. Some offence it would 
seem, was given by the " one who had seen the 
world." It was resented, and he was severely 
punished, — so severely that, to save his life, I 
was obliged to procure him a new cage. He 
contrived however, to outlive all his companions ; 
and died as fond of his cage as ever. Now, 
Mr. Editor, tell me, — was it cruel, under the 
circumstances described, for me to keep my 
little birds in a cage ? I quite agree with you, 
that to deprive wild birds of their liberty, and 
then cage them, — is cruel ; but in my mind, the 
case is far different when birds which never knew 
freedom, and which were reared from the nest, are 
domesticated with us, and kindly tended. They 
become, in fact, " members of the family," and 
they invariably act as such ! By the way, the 
sagacity and jealousy of these blue-caps was 
extraordinary. ,We had two cats [more shame 
for you ! ] . The one, they did not fear but 
hated ; the other, they treated with perfect 
indifference. — F. G., Nottingliam. 

[You have stated your case so fairly, so 
prettily, Flora, that we cannot contradict or 
gainsay anything that you have advanced ; your 
birds proved that they were "happy," and this 
was all they could desire , but fie ! fie ! for keep- 
ing those cats. You cannot love birds and cats. 
It is impossible ! ] 

Cats witlwut Tails. — I have read with much 
delight, the many interesting remarks in your | 

First and Second Volumes about " Cats without 
tails." I find in our establishment, persons who 
remember the race for the last forty-six years ; yet 
cannot I trace how they were first introduced into 
the family. For more than ten years past, we 
have had some splendid Persians ; and much loving 
and friendly acquaintance has passed between the 
two races. It has always been a marked fact, that 
the kittens had, severally, every variety of tails. 
Some had long tails ; some mere stumps ; others 
no tails at all. Still the breed has never failed. 
They are specially good garden cats. We have 
a neighbor, who always keeps a tail-less cat in his 
garden. I should add, that all these cats possess 
good qualities, — i.e. the qualities of the veritable 
and acknowledged race. They won't claim any 
affinity with the rabbit. No ! no ! One of these 
cats, and my cockatoo, are the best of friends. 
They sit together, eat together, play together. 
Indeed all our birds and all our cats are "one" in 
friendship. I am sure Mr Editor, you would love 
our cats. — Patiexce, Devon. 

[Haters are we of cats, generally. Therefore, 
if we loved your cats, Patience, it must be because 
we loved you. What say you ? It does not rest 
with us ! ] 

Prize Babbits. — Let me call your attention to 
the late "Metropolitan Fancy Rabbit Show," 
held at Anderton's Hotel, just before Christmas. 
It was one of the very best shows yet on record. 
The animals exhibited were of rare beauty. The 
two first prizes for a fawn-colored buck and doe, 
were awarded to Mr. Parks. The length of ear 
in the former was twenty-and-a-quarter inches by 
four and seven-eighths ; in the latter, twenty-one 
and three-quarter inches by five and a quarter. The 
other prizes were awarded to Messrs. Herring, 
Littleton, Locks, Handey, Bird, Payne, and Stin- 
ton. After the prize-rabbits had been passed down 
the table for the inspection of the visitors, Mr. 
Parks, who took the first two prizes, introduced 
five rabbits, measuring in the aggregate one hun- 
dred and two inches. Four of these animals were 
the produce of one doe ; the other was also bred 
by the exhibitor. Mr. Lock also introduced three 
splendid yellow and whites, of the rich color so 
much approved by the judges, and declared by 
them to be the true color to be attained. A num- 
ber of gentlemen from the country were present, 
and all were highly delighted. The various toasts 
were then given, and the business of the evening 
terminated with &petit souper. Mr. W. Jo>es, 
as usual, made a neat speech as Hon. Secretary ; 
and all was unity and harmony among the com- 
pany and the members. — Argus. 

[A correct list of the dimensions, ages, &c, of 
the animals exhibited, has been placed in our 
hands, and may be seen at our publisher's.] 

Mildness of the Season, 1852-53. — Flowers in 
the open air, are not among the objects of attrac- 
tion for which we generally look at Christmas. 
However, they may be found in the present season, 
and in no small number. I observed, on the 25th 
of December, in a garden a few miles north of 
the metropolis, pelargoniums, fuschias, and cal- 
ceolarias, as green and vigorous as those enjoying 
greenhouse protection. Carnations, mignonette, 
Salvia fulgens, Neapolitan violets, China roses, 



primroses, and poly anthtises were in bloom; some, 
profusely. Also, the Aloysia citriodora, and 
the southernwood, Artemisia abrotanum, were as 
green as in the middle of the summer. Among 
wild flowers I noticed Borago officinalis, Myosotis 
arvensis, Cynoglossum officinalis, Linaria cymba- 
laria, Lamium album, blooming abundantly. It 
was interesting to observe that the pelargoniums 
which displayed so much vigor and freshness, oc- 
cupied an exposed position, which secured com- 
parative dryness ; whilst those which were shel- 
tered, and thus kept in a damp condition, had 
been much injured — showing the effects of damp 
in preparing the way for the action of cold, and 
confirming the remark that " moisture is the pro- 
vider for the lion frost." — E. Marnock. 

The Return to Nature ; Dead Leaves. — There 
are some very sensible remarks, Mr. Editor, in the 
"Horticulturist," connected with the preservation 
of the leaves which fall from the trees in autumn. 
The writer says : — " People would do well to 
reflect for a moment on the nature of fallen leaves, 
which contain not only the vegetable matter, but 
the earthy salts, lime, potash, etc., needed for the 
next season's growth ; and that, too, exactly in the 
proportion required by the very tree and plant 
from which they fall It is precisely in this way, 
by the decomposition of these very fallen leaves, 
that Nature enriches the soil, year after year, in 
her great forests. Such leaves, then, are highly 
valuable ; and should be carefully collected, from 
week to week. To dig these under the soil, about 
the roots, where they will decay, and enrich that 
soil — is to provide, in the cheapest manner, the 
best possible food for that tree." — These obser- 
vations deserve attentive consideration, Mr. Editor. 
I invariably see that all leaves in our garden are 
thus profitably made use of in the autumn. The 
result is always most satisfactory. — Sylvia. 

The Zollverein Bird Cages. — In your first 
volume, Mr, Editor, you commented, in the highest 
terms of praise, on the zinc cages exhibited in 
Hyde Park. Can you tell me whether they can 
be had in England ; and if so, where ? You said 
they would effectually exclude vermin ; and this is 
what I am so anxious about.—- Sarah L., Not- 

[We are happy to tell you, that you can obtain 
these cages, in choice variety, at 90, Charlotte 
Street, Fitzroy Square.] 

New Aviary at Rugby. — Dear Mr. Editor : — 
A perusal of your interesting Journal, has created 
amongst us a great love for the study of Natural 
History ; and has led to the formation of an Aviary 
in the playgrounds of this College. It has been 
built for the reception of small British birds. I 
am happy to inform you that, on its completion, 
Mr. Bingham most kindly presented us with all 
his collection of British birds — consisting of a pair 
of skylarks, a pair of yellow-hammers, a pair of 
bullfinches, a pair of mountain-finches, two pairs 
of goldfinches, a pair of quails, a pair of black- 
headed buntings, a pair of brown linnets, a pair of 
green linnets, two pairs of red-poles, a pair of 
chaffinches, a pied wagtail, a robin, and a siskin. 
Other birds have since been added ; and the aviary 
for the reception of hawks has been enlarged. I 

consider it right to tell yon that, among the British 
birds, there have been three deaths. The wagtail 
is dead, and one of the yellow-hammers. The 
latter was killed by the robin. [The robin will 
soon kill the other ; and more in addition. He 
should be removed at once. Eobins are insatiably 
blood-thirsty.] The quail was drowned in the 
basin belonging to the fountain. [You must make 
this basin much shallower, or, in the spring, half 
your stock will be drowned.] The pair of kestrels, 
in the hawk aviary, are very healthy, but the 
sparrow-hawk has died from cramp. [You must 
carefully guard against damp, especially at such 
a season as this, or you will lose half your birds.] 
The foreign birds, in the aviary adjoining the 
conservatory, are in a very healthy state, — par- 
ticularly the avidavats, Virginian nightingale, 
bishop-bird, widow-bird, a pair of wax-bills, a pair 
of spice-birds, a Java sparrow, and a pair of shell 
parrots. These last were sent to Mr. Bingham, 
from Australia. We have not yet been able to 
get a specimen of the ground parrot mentioned in 
our Journal, (vol 1, page 153) ; but we hope to 
do so soon. — C. J. Bromhead, Hon. Sec, College 
of the Deaf and Dumb, Rugby. 

[We are glad to hear that we have aided you 
in your studies ; and sincerely hope you will closely 
pursue your most delightful researches into the 
beauties of Nature.] 

More Cruelty to Animals ; A Mutilated Jack- 
daw. — Knowing well, my dear Sir, what a cham- 
pion we have in you, I send you a most horrible 
case of barbarity just reported in the Hampshire 
Advertiser. Do pray offer some comment on it, 
as it may act in terrorem over some other fiend in 
human shape. The paragraph I allude to, is as 
follows : — " A correspondent, who dates his com- 
munication from Commercial Eoad, Blechynden 
(Southampton), writes : — For the last three or 
four years, a neighbor of mine has had in his pos- 
session a jackdaw, and a remarkably fine specimen 
it was. In short, its perfect symmetry of form, 
together with its singularly confiding and friendly 
habits, and intelligent look, rendered it a general 
pet in this vicinity ; and with myself it was an 
especial favorite. Frequently has it come to my 
window (for bits of bread, &c), and when opened, 
would perch on my finger, and allow me to rub its 
poll ; when, after thus caressing it for a minute or 
so, away it would fly, to interest and amuse others, 
as I always fancied ; for one should have thought 
a bird with such a confiding nature would have 
had no enemy, but have endeared itself to all. 
Notwithstanding, however, its lively and happy 
looks, and friendly habits, poor Jack, a day or 
two ago, whilst on its rounds (looking, possibly, 
for a Christmas morsel), met with an Anguis sub 
umbra. Some diabolical monster in human 
shape has cut off the nether part of its bill up- 
wards of half an inch, so that the poor bird can 
now peck nothing with it, which is most painful to 
witness. Whether or not it is possible for the 
mutilated beak to grow again, I am not sufficient 
ornithologist to know ; if not, I fear poor Jack's 
doom is sealed, although it may be carefully fed 
by its owner. Whatever may have been the poor 
bird's failings — even if regarded by some as too 
familiar, such wanton and deliberate cruelty is 
most shocking. It is to be hoped this human 



tiger, whoever he is, will not only soon be shown 
up, but smartly fined and severely punished." — 
So much, my dear Sir, for the paragraph. _ I only 
wish I could send you the name of the miscreant 
who has thus disgraced human nature. _ I feel 
sure you would publish it. It may transpire yet ; 
if it does, how gladly will I send it you ! Is it 
not monstrous, thus to mutilate a dear, confiding, 
inoffensive creature, whose only sin is — love for 
mankind! Which is the " brute " in this case ? 
— A. T., Southampton. 

[Alas ! fair maiden, what can we do or say to 
meet such a case? The only means of punish- 
ment would be, to gibbet the wretch by naming 
him. He would then be expelled from all decent 
society, and have the mark of Cain set upon him. 
The wretch, King,* who lately roasted an in- 
offensive cat alive — and this man,would form fitting 
associates. Send us the name of the offender, if 
ever it transpires, and we pledge our word to im- 
mortalise him to the last generation. No word in 
our English dictionary can characterise such an 
offender. We may call him a monster, a wretch, 
a villain, a miscreant. Here our language stops ; 
and leaves this scum of society unscathed. Let 
us only get his name, and he will remain a vaga- 
bond all the rest of his days. Let us hope the 
poor jackdaw is dead. Death would be merciful 
in a case of such extreme barbarity.] 

The Ant and the Bee. — The following obser- 
vations on the mode of communication adopted by 
the Ant and the Bee, will perhaps be interesting 
to your readers. You have already furnished us, 
in your former volumes, with much that is valu- 
able in connection with these useful members of 
the community. Any one who finds himself in 
the vicinity of an ant's nest, may soon be con- 
vinced that these industrious little laborers are by 
no means destitute of the power of communicating 
information to each other relative to the affairs of 
their commonwealth. Let him, for example, place 
a heap of food in the neighborhood of the ant-hill, 
and watch the proceedings of its inmates. A short 
time will probably elapse before the discovery of 
the treasure, but at length some wanderer, in his 
morning's ramble, has the good fortune to stumble 
upon it. What does he do ? He does not, like 
an isolated individual incapable of asking for as- 
sistance, begin at once the task of removing the 
heap ; but, on the contrary, off he scampers with 
the glad intelligence ; and running his head 
against that of every ant he meets, manages, in 
some mysterious way, not only to intimate the fact 
of the discovery, but also to give information rela- 
tive to the locality where the provisions may be 
found. Speedily it will be seen that troops of 
porters, summoned at the call of the first finder, 
hasten to the spot, and all is activity and bustle 
until the store is safely warehoused in the ant-hill. 

* We exposed this fellow in our Second Volume 
(see p. 377). We only wish we could have seen 
the shadow of any extenuating circumstances — 
this, for the sake of human nature. But when we 
remember that he and his "friend " complacently 
sat down to cigars and brandy and water (with 
the outcries of their innocent victim hardly yet 
silenced), all pity for such outcasts becomes mis- 

Another still more striking instance of the posses- 
sion of a capability of spreading intelligence — and 
that of a somewhat abstruse character — is fur- 
nished by experiments that have been made by 
Huber and others upon bees. Every one is aware 
that the queen-bee is an object of the greatest 
solicitude and attention to all the workers of the 
hive ; and yet, among so many thousands, all 
busily employed in different and distant parts of 
the colony, it would appear impossible for them to 
ascertain — at least before the lapse of a consider- 
able time — whether she was absent from among 
them or not. In order to see whether bees had 
any power of conveying news of this kind, the 
queen-bee has been stealthily and quietly abstract- 
ed from the hive ; but here, as elsewhere, ill news 
was found to fly apace. For some half-hour or so, 
the loss seemed not to have been ascertained, but 
the progressively increasing buzz of agitation 
gradually announced the growing alarm, until 
shortly the whole hive was in an uproar, and all 
its busy occupants were seen pouring forth their 
legions in search of their lost monarch, or eager 
to avenge with their stings the insult offered to 
their sovereign. On restoring the captured queen 
to her subjects, with equal secrecy, the tumult 
speedily subsided ; and the ordinary business of the 
community was resumed, as before the occurrence. 
— These are merely hints, thrown out by the way. 
Proof of all that is here asserted is so easily ob- 
tained, that every inquiring mind should at once 
investigate the facts for itself. — Anna G., Maid- 

[There is no excuse for any body to remain ig- 
norant of these delightful matters-of-fact. So 
many people keep bees, now-a-days, that a sight 
of their movements may be readily obtained. As 
for Ants, they may be seen at work, in the sum- 
mer, in nearly every garden we enter.] 

Cats without Tails. — In your admirable Jour- 
nal, Mr. Editor, I have seen many commentaries 
on this peculiar race of cats, — all of these com- 
munications have been full of interest. Rely 
upon it, it is a distinct race. They are quite com- 
mon in Westmoreland, where I have seen whole 
litters of them. I have also found single spe- 
cimens of them (occasionally) in different parts 
of England. How any sane person can, for one 
instance, give credence to their being mules, I 
am at a loss to imagine. Our Creator, all-wise, 
has ordained it that mules, beyond the first 
generation, cannot exist — thus preventing a race 
of monsters. I do not know whether you are 
aware of it, or not, Mr, Editor, but there is a 
very fine breed of tail-less pigs, and another breed 
almost destitute of hair or bristles. Both these 
are by breeders highly esteemed. — Verax. 

[Your favors are herewith exhausted. Please 
commence de novo. Our readers peruse your 
reminiscences with delight. There is. a reality 
about them that invests them with a perpetual 
freshness. A long life has brought you 
acquainted with a multitude of pleasing "facts."] 

Deformity in the Canary. — I have read with 
much interest the communication in Vol. II., 
page 395, of our Journal, about deformity in the 
canary. I beg to suggest, that the cause of this 
distressing succession of misfortunes, was the 



inhabitation of vermin. I once was similarly 
circumstanced. I observed all my young birds 
were looking dejected and uneasy, and that some 
of them could not perch. On handling them to 
discover the cause, I found them full of vermin ; 
and several of their claws were eaten off by these 
Thugs, as you properly call them. — WT C. W. 

Sky-larks and Wood-larks, with Club Feet. — 
All my skylarks (I have five) and my woodlarks (I 
have three) have their feet deformed ; and they 
make a sad noise, as they run to and fro in their 
cages. They seem positively frightened at the 
noise they make ! Do tell me, Sir, the reason of 
this ; and also how I shall bring my birds into 
song, with any other useful particulars. I have 
only just heard of your Paper ; and I mean to 
take it in regularly. — Caroline P. 

[We are glad to hear you are about to take in 
our Journal. If you are fond of birds, and are 
desirous of knowing hoio to treat them, procure 
our first and second Volumes. In these you will 
find the most minute particulars given for the 
management of all kinds of birds — not only from 
our own pen, but contributed by many of our 
correspondents, whose experience has been regis- 
tered in our columns pro bono publico. The case 
of your wood-larks and sky -larks has been treated 
of at much length, as the " index" will show you; 
and it would be unfair to our readers to go over 
the same ground again here — nor is it needful. 
This periodical of ours, is not ephemeral. Its 
value as a " practical work of reference" is inap- 
preciable. As it has been rendered so by our 
contributors, we may say this without incurring 
a charge of egotism.] 

On Taming Animals. — I am really surprised, my 
dear Sir, to see how you are teased on this sub- 
ject ! Long before your, or rather our own Jour- 
nal saw the light, I had a cat which would fol- 
low me about everywhere. Long after I had 
quitted my father's roof, that cat bore me in un- 
ceasing remembrance. I used to pay a weekly 
visit to the old house, every Sunday. Did that 
cat know when Sunday came round ? Did she 
not ! As regularly as clock-work would she come 
out to meet me, as I neared the spot. Then 
would she jump, frisk, gambol, and bound merrily 
homewards, to announce that I was near at hand. 
There was no mistake here. We all understood 
thoroughly what was to happen, and what did 
happen. One day — forgive me if I was cruel — I 
resolved to play off a little trick to try the since- 
rity of my feline friend. We met as usual, and 
away flew Tom, to say to the inmates " here he 
comes !" — However, this time " he" did not come. 
I hid myself behind a tree, and watched the event. 
As I suspected, all came out to meet me — "Tom" 
included. I was absent ! How dolefully that 
poor dear creature did whine when he missed me ! 
His look was that of despair. However, I soon 
discovered myself; and his joy was unbounded, 
His end was that of most " pets." He had 
strayed — had eaten of what was not meant for 
him ; and when sought for was "found dead." I 
have several little anecdotes to send you shortly 
that will just suit our Journal. I have been a 
constant reader of yours from the first. I have 
met with a host of difficulties in getting it — but I 

always peremptorily insisted on the bookseller 
procuring it ; and thus alone could I have suc- 
ceeded. All your readers should do the same. I 
am glad to hear of your new change ; and sincerely 
say to you — " Go on, and prosper"." I will recom- 
mend our Journal whenever and wherever I 
have an opportunity. — A. B. M., Coventry. 

[You did right in compelling the bookseller to pro- 
cure you the Journal. We only wish all our kind 
friends in the country had done as you have done. 
We should then — instead of being minus nearly 
£600, have been that amount in pocket — a serious 
" difference" to us ! We have three parts killed our- 
self during the past year. One head, and one pair 
of hands, did then — as they are doing now, the 
work of at least half a dozen individuals. Not 
being gifted with a " lined " purse (our hard- 
hearted brethren know this), our head and hands 
have been constrained to make up the heavy de- 
ficiency. We have paid the penalty in a shattered 
constitution. What makes us refractory is — that 
when it is admitted on all hands that we ought 
to have succeeded, we did not succeed. Our 
Paper has been reported as " dead," " dropped," 
" out of print," &c, &c, without mercy. This, 
in all parts of the country. The Town trade are 
blameable for this, — for the Country bookseller can 
only give the answer he receives from his London 
agent. _ " Paternoster Row " is notorious for these 
dirty tricks. The large houses sell just what they 
please ; and annihilate the rest. The Country 
Trade are quite at their mercy ; and it is only 
fair for us to state this. Our files groan under 
complaints from the country. These complaints 
are founded in reason ; but we can, personally, 
offer the writers no redress. * Now that we have 
a Monthly issue only, let us hope we shall sail 
more smoothly. As regards the labor attached to 
our Journal, — we may remark that, to reply to 
"the Correspondence " alone, by post, would keep 
a man of ordinary talent unceasingly at work. 
Yet do we, unaided, manage the whole — from first 
to last ! _ We think we have u a right " to the 
"Mysterious Cloak," under such circumstances.-}-] 

A Lesson to Parents. — Oblige me, my dear 
Mr. Editor, by inserting the following in our 
Journal. It is a scene from Jean Paul Richter, 
and carries with it an obvious moral for all but 
the wilfully blind. " A delicate child, pale, and 
prematurely wise, complained on a hot morning 
that the poor dew-drops had been too hastily 
snatched away, and not allowed to glitter on the 
flowers like other happier dew-drops, that live the 
whole night through, and sparkle in the moon- 
light ; and through the morning, onwards to noon- 
day. ' The sun,' said the child, ' has chased them 
away with his heat, or swallowed them up in his 
wrath.' Soon after, came rain and a rainbow ; 
whereupon his father pointed upwards. ' See,' said 

*Wc are continually receiving private notes, 
addressed to Hammersmith, enclosing remittances 
for Nos. and Parts of the Journal, to be forwarded 
by post to the writers. The countiy booksellers 
tell them, — " the Work is not to be had, and it is 
no use writing any more to their London Agents 
for it."— Ed. K.J. 

f See Vol. i., Page 104. 



he, " there stand the dew-drops gloriously re-set 
— a glittering jewellery — in the heavens ; and the 
clownish foot tramples on them no more. By this, 
my child, thou art taught, what withers upon the 
earth blooms again in heaven.' Thus the father 
spoke, and knew not that he spoke prefiguring 
words ; for soon after the delicate child, with the 
morning brightness of his early wisdom, was ex- 
haled, like a dew-drop, into heaven." — How many 
of these " delicate, prematurely wise children" 
live but to die ! How many of their gentle spirits 
are broken, by the gross ignorance and wicked- 
ness of their parents in training them up in a 
"wrong way!" How soon is the innocence of 
childhood seduced into the paths of sin ! — 

[Most true, Nannette ! Let us echo your senti- 
ment from pole to pole. The " innocence of child- 
hood," now-a-days, is a mis-nomer. The " inno- 
cence" of children is reckoned of no moment. On 
the contrary, pains unceasing are taken to 
make them precociously forward. The " conse- 
quences," alas, we all daily suffer from !] 

The Shrike, or Great Butcher-bird, — A very 
fine specimen of this rare bird was shot a short 
time since, near St. Catharine's Hill, by Mr. W. 
H. Bayent. It was observed the day previous, 
hovering at a great height ; but it was inaccessible 
from its extreme shyness. On beating about early 
next morning, the bird was fortunately flushed 
within distance, and brought down. It is worthy 
of note, that the shot in no way injured the plum- 
age of the bird. One shot only, had taken effect ; 
and that one pierced the brain. The bird, which 
is a most beautiful one, is stuffed. — L., Winchester. 

A Seasonable Hint, — The Oak. — The oak, Mr. 
Editor, is a noble tree, and you will agree with me, 
the more we have of them the better. Let us 
try, and add to their number. There is "reason" 
in it. The far-famed Admiral Collingwood thus 
speaks of the "brave old oak," in a letter dated 
" The Dreadnought, off Ushant," in 1805: "If 
the country gentlemen do not make it a point to 
plant oaks wherever they will grow, the time will 
not be far distant when, to keep up our navy, we 
must depend entirely on captures from our enemy. 
You will be . surprised to hear that most of the 
trees which were used in the Hibernia were taken 
from the Spanish ships captured on the 14th of 
February, and what they could not furnish was 
supplied by iron. I wish every one thought on 
this subject as I do — they would not walk through 
their farms without a handful of acorns to drop on 
the hedge-sides to let them take their chance." 
Every thing we see, Mr. Editor, is in favor of the 
oak. Therefore, I say again, let us keep adding 
to their number. — Quercus. 

A Laurel bewitched. — No little surprise, Mr. 
Editor, has been excited here (Worcester), by the 
appearance of something extraordinary in a 
laurel tree. All the professed wise heads who 
have come to examine the matter, have gone away 
dumb-founded. Even John, the gardener, a 
knowing fellow in his way, shrugs up his shoulders, 
and exclaims in true Worcester phraseology, 
"I never seed the likes of him!" Now this king 
of spades, having had but limited opportunities for 

observation, I will get you or some of your corres- 
pondents, to tell me whether this is a parasitic 
plant, or whether it is attacked by disease ? How 
shall I describe it ? There is but one way, and it 
shall be an original way, i. e., straightforward. 
The branch which is attacked is tolerably thick. 
The bark has split in all directions, and the whole 
of the upper part is covered with (what appears like 
an army of) meal-worms, — all busily intent upon 
moving downwards, and scrambling one over the 
other, helter-skelter. The growth of these has 
been rapid. Outwardly, let me remark, the tree 
has proved itself of the world — worldly. It has, 
like the world's inhabitants, kept up appearances 
while "sick at heart." Till closely examined, it 
would seem to be healthy and vigorous. — Pris- 
cilla, Worcester. 

[Well done, excellent Priscilla ! you raise an 
interesting question, and "point a moral" at the 
same time. Enrol yourself from to-day " as one of 
us." We shall turn your talent to a profitable 
account. We have not, ourself, met with a case 
similar to the one you mention ; but we have no 
doubt some of our readers will soon come to your 
aid, and solve the riddle.] 

The Robin, a Cage Bird. — You have im- 
mortalised the Robin, Mr. Editor, in our Journal, 
and he deserves all you have said of him. I too 
am blessed with one of the most splendid speci- 
mens of the tribe. I do not mean to say as to 
beauty. No ! my pet is the ugliest of a nest of 
five (four of which are now dead). His head is 
over-large ; his beak, too, slightly malformed, and 
it does not close properly. This, however, goes 
for nothing. Master Bob is intelligence itself. 
Whether it be day-light, candle-light, morn, noon, 
or night, all is one to him. He knows my foot- 
fall ; he catches my slightest whisper. Either 
will call forth from him, at all times, a joyous, 
rolling song. The same if he is in-doors, and I 
am in the garden. Sympathy unites us as by an 
electric wire. He is the pet of the family, of 
course ; his price beyond rubies. I always caress 
him, or he would pay me off for it ; and when I 
give tid-bits to my other favorites, he must be 
first served ! To tell you all his endearments, 
and all the games we have together, would occupy 
too much of your space. Suffice it to say, his 
love for me is extraordinary indeed ! As for his 
song, it is indescribably rich. It is partly the 
natnral song of a sweet-song robin — the remaining 
notes are superb imitations of snatches of music 
performed by German bands, who often perform 
under my window. Will you come down and 
hear him ? How glad I shall be to see you ! — 
R. B., Winchester. 

[You have indeed a treasure in your red- 
breasted little friend ! These birds are very 
subject to " fits ; " beware, therefore, of giving 
him too much live food when in confinement. 
Bread and egg, cheese, moistened bread and 
butter (very little butter) ; a spider or two, an 
earwig, or a few ants (in the season), will keep 
him hale and hearty. Don't slight him. These 
are very jealous birds. One act of neglect might 
keep him " silent " for ever ! We have had two 
or three birds exactly like this " Prince of Robins." 
We did, as you do, make much of them. Alas ! 
they are now dead! We have, however, plenty 



of red-breasted play-fellows in the garden — so 
tame ! We have many a game together now. 
In the spring, it will'be delightful to play together. 
We dig up worms, and they eat them from our 
hand. We thank you for your kind invite. We 
may, perhaps, some day take flight, and will then 
gladly make one at your hospitable table.] 

Tlie Siskin— I have a pet siskin, Mr. Editor; 
such a dear little fellow ! He is so tame, too ! 
However I do not let him out of his cage. I call 
him Huie ; and he comes when called, to take a 
seed from my mouth. He is quite a traveller. 
Bought at Newburgh, Fifeshire, he was taken to 
Dundee ; thence by Aberdeen to Inverness ; 
thence by Glasgow, Liverpool, and Birmingham, 
to his present residence at Coventry. So accus- 
tomed is he to locomotion, that he is never dis- 
turbed when his cage is about to be covered over. 
He was never trained to sing ; but, whilst travel- 
ling, picked up the song of the chaffinch, mixed 
with the notes of a canary. These he combines 
with his own natural, sprightly song. It is pretty 
to hear him " lead off" with his own notes, then 
swell out into the^ canary-notes, and finally end 
with those of the chaffinch. His value to a dealer 
might be next to nothing — to me he is invaluable. 
He was ill in June last ; but you prescribed for 
him. He took what you recommended, and was 
soon°" himself again." — A. M., Coventry. 

Insanity. — This fearful malady, Mr. Editor, is 
fast spreading amongst us ; and I regret to say 
that it is not a little increased by the peculiarly 
cruel punishment inflicted in our various prisons. 
A case in point — one of how many others ? — pre- 
sents itself in an inquest just held in the Mill- 
bank prison. The suicide, Thomas Wilkinson, 
was aged only nineteen. He had been in sepa- 
rate confinement three months and eight days. 
The subjoined, from the evidence given before the 
coroner, is worthy the perusal of every heart that 
can/eel. We may be "just," surely, without 
being unnecessarily " cruel." Mr. Postance, the 
religious instructor, deposed that, on the 27th of 
October last, the deceased had expressed great 
sorrow for his former conduct, and appeared very 
rational. Dr. Baily, the prison physician, under 
whose medical care the deceased had been, con- 
sidered the act of suicide to have been unpre- 
meditated, and to have arisen from his long sen- 
tence. This witness thought the general cause of 
the suicide of prisoners arose from the long pros- 
pect of transportation. Mr. J. D. Rendle, resi- 
dent surgeon, had seen nothing in the manner of 
the deceased to lead him to suppose he would 
commit suicide. Dr. Baly here said, that the six 
months' separate confinement had greatly ag- 
gravated the diseases of prisoners, and only on 
Saturday last he recommended that a number 
should be placed in association until they could 
be removed to Dartmoor or other places. Cap- 
tain Groves, in answer to questions from the cor- 
oner, said, that he had no doubt the separate 
confinement, even in its mitigated form, affected 
both the body and the mind of the prisoners. 
He came to that conclusion, from a mass of obser- 
vations which he had made from time to time, 
and the statistics of the prison. The jury unani- 
mously returned a verdict — " That the deceased 

destroyed his own life by cutting his throat with 
a razor, he being at the time in a state of tempo- 
rary insanity, brought on by separate confinement." 
Let us hope, my dear Sir, that some reform may 
be soon effected, in the abolition of this fiendish 
refinement upon cruelty ! — Patek-Familias. 

[We most cordially agree with you, in the sen- 
timents you express. Insanity is a subject we 
have long been studying. We have seen many — 
alas ! too many — thus mentally afflicted. We 
have come to the firm conviction that, of the two, 
death is the more desirable. We ought to be 
very tender indeed, with all persons suffering from 
nervous affection. Our endurance and forbear- 
ance, under such circumstances, must be exem- 
plary. It is a duty we owe to God and to each 
other. The intellect is frequently poised on the 
weight of a single feather. The gigantic street- 
organs under our very window, as we before re- 
marked, have more than once nearly turned our 
editorial brain, and rendered us fit objects for 
Bedlam. These infernal machines, — these " or- 
gans of destructiveness," greet our ear at least 
thrice daily, (beginning at nine a.m.) — sometimes 
lingering near us for an hour at a time. Our pen 
is then at once thrown down — our ideas seek an 
hour's refuge in Han well, and we realise not a 
few of the mental tortures known only to the 
dwellers in that and similar asylums. These are 
some of those fearful inflictions upon society, 
for which there is no remedy. Foreigners, too, 
are the offenders — not our own countrymen ! 
still we have no redress. The "law" laughs at 
us, and we grin at it. We are " not justified," 
we learn, in taking the law into our own hands. 
That may be — but we greatly fear, ere the Spring 
is over, we shall be indicted for "manslaughter" 
at least. We have certain indefatigable Italian 
"performers" in our mind's eye, who grind 
their boxes of whistles immediately under our 
window — and in our street,* that most assuredly 
stand ever}- chance of being speedily registered 
in the Bills of Mortality. We feel sure, if we 
defended our own cause, that we might plead " a 
justification," and so get " acquitted." It is 
worth the trial ; for we may as well be " martyred" 
one way as another. Only let us be tried by a 
west-end jury, and we are content.] 

The Wine-Cork Insect. — I dare say, Mr. 
Editor, there are many of your readers ignorant 
of the appearance presented by the walls of a 
merchant's wine-cellar. The large bodies of 
floating web, or mould, must be seen to be 
credited ; and a sight more remarkable of its 
kind, perhaps never existed. Insect life is busy 
here — above, below, all around. Aye, even the 
corks in the bottles are alive ! Hear what Mr. 
Westwood says about the Wine-Cork Insect : — 
" At a season when our wine-cellars are subject 
to more than ordinary visitation, and long stored 
up bottles of choice wine are dislodged from their 
dark retreats, and their contents duly discussed, 
we may be allowed to leave the gardens and 

* We selected a lofty attic in this street — 
" said to be " one of the quietest and most 
secluded in London, — simply because we thought 
we should be free from annoyance. Yet are we 
persecuted, almost to death ! — Ed. K. J. 



fields, and call attention to the proceedings of 
several species of insects which have the instinct 
to devour the corks, and so to cause the wine to 
leak — thereby occasionally producing woful disap- 
pointment to the expectant connoisseur. The 
most injurious of all these wine-cork insects is the 
caterpillar of a little moth which gnaws the cork 
in all directions, weaving at the same time a slight 
web, to which are attached small masses of 
grains, which are the dried excrement of the 
insect. The ravages these larvae commit are 
fearful. , The larva itself is whitish-colored, 
fleshy, and slightly clothed with erect scattered 
setae ; and with a dark-colored head. When dis- 
turbed it writhes about, quits its burrow, and 
lets itself down from the cork by a fine thread. 
When full grown, it forms an elongated cocoon, 
attached to the surface of the material upon 
which it has been feeding, formed of a fine layer 
of silk, to the outside of which are attached par- 
ticles of excrement and gnawings of its food. 
Within this cocoon it is transformed to a small 
chrysalis, rather slender in form, with the head- 
ease pointed, and the antennae cases extending 
quite to the extremity of the body. The perfect 
insect is a minute moth belonging to the family 
Tineidae, placed by Haworth in the genus 
Gracillaria, and specifically named by him Gr. V. 
flava, from the pale V-like mark on each of the 
fore- wings, which measure rather more than one- 
third of an inch in expanse, and are of a shining 
brown color, with a narrow pale clay-colored angu- 
lated transverse bar running across the fore-wings, 
at about one-third of their length from the base, 
resembling a >> placed side-ways, the point of the 
letter being directed towards the tip of the wings, 
and connected by pale scales with a large spot on 
the fore-margin towards the end of the wings, 
which is indistinctly formed into a fascia on the 
hind margin. The fringe is very long, the hind 
wings very slender and pointed, with very long 
fringe, of a pale straw-colored buff. The head is 
clothed with a dense tuft of buff-colored hairs, 
truncated transversely. The palpi are of moderate 
length, very slender, drooping, and extending out- 
wards, so as to be seen at the sides of the head. 
The antennae are very long and thread-like, 
and the hind tarsi are considerably elongated. 
This insect has formed the subject of several com- 
munications made to the Entomological Society 
during the last three or four years. It has no 
taste for the wine itself ; as it invariably leaves 
that portion of the cork which is saturated with 
the wine, untouched. From recent observations, 
communicated to us by Mr. Bedell, there is rea- 
son to doubt whether its exclusive or perhaps even 
natural food is cork, and whether it has not resort- 
ed to the cork of the wine bottles because its- own 
food has been destroyed or wanting. Mr. Bedell, 
in fact, finds the moth in the vaults of the London 
Docks, where the wine is never kept in bottles ; 
and he has, moreover, found the caterpillars feed- 
ing upon fungi or mould growing upon the walls 
of cellars ; where, also, no corked wine bottles were 
kept. Another circumstance is also worthy of 
remark, namely, that the insect seems almost un- 
known on the Continent ; whereas if it fed natur- 
ally on the cork, it would surely be found more 
commonly in the south of Europe. A communi- 
cation by Dr. Felkin, of Kichmond, was made to 

the Entomological Society, on the 5th of April 
last, in which it was stated that the corks of some 
port-wine bottles which had been packed in straw 
in wooden cases, in which it remained undisturbed 
for seventeen or eighteen years, were found to 
have been much gnawed, so that in some cases 
leakage and evaporation had completely emptied 
the bottles. In others, there was only a little loss ; 
but in most cases the corks were more or less de- 
stroyed. This partial destruction seemed as if it 
were prevented from being complete by the wine 
oozing out in a single drop, and being pernicious 
to the insect. He moreover suggested that the 
insect seemed to enter into the cork, and commence 
its ravages at that part where there is a depression 
caused by the instrument used by wine merchants 
in corking wine, to compress the cork, and make 
it enter more readily into the neck of the bottle. 
He proposed, as a remedy against the mischief, to 
cut the cork level with the mouth of the bottle, 
and then to dip the top of the bottle for half-an- 
inch into a mixture of — yellow bees*-wax, eight 
ounces, and sweet oil four ounces, melted toge- 
ther ; or to surround the upper part of the cork 
with a thin coat of gutta percha, or after the bot- 
tle has been corked, to immerse the mouth in a so- 
lution of alum in vinegar. None of these plans, if ef- 
fectual,would injure the wine, or render it less fit for 
drinking. — I have recently been over some large 
wine-cellars, Mr. Editor, and it is what I saw there 
that has induced me to copy and send you the 
above particulars from my paper. It appears that 
various other species of insects feed on the corks of 
wine-bottles. An account of them will be found 
in the first volume of " The Transactions of the 
Entomological Society," p. 55 ; " Kirby and 
Spence's Introduction," 6th edition, vol. i., p. 
197; and "Curtis's British Entomology, Genus, 
Mycetaea," fol. 502. Nature is indeed wonderful 
in all her works. — Curiosus, Hampstead. 

Diogenes and his Lantern. — A new weekly 
periodical, Mr. Editor, yclept " Diogenes, ' has 
appeared amongst us. His philosophic lantern 
has been turned already upon a multitude of 
dark subjects. It is now turned upon a very 
dark locality indeed ! I mean Paternoster Row — 
or " the grove of poor authors" as it stands re- 
corded in history. The philosopher, and his lan- 
tern, have been in " the Row" one whole month, 
seeking to find " an honest bookseller." " When 
found," he will no doubt be " made a note of." — 

[Diogenes will die, Mr. 'Quiz, — at least we 
fear as much. He has undertaken too much. 
Yet do we readily acknowledge that " we live in 
an Age of Wonders."] 

New mode of Coloring Silk, previous to Spin- 
ning. — It has long been known to physiologists, 
that certain coloring matters, if administered to 
animals along with their food, possess the pro- 
perty of entering into the system and tinging the 
bones. In this way, the bones of swine have been 
tinged purple by madder ; and instances are on 
record of other animals being similarly affected. 
No attempt, however, was made to turn this 
beautiful discovery to account until lately, when 
Mons. Roulin speculated on what might be the 
consequence of administering colored articles of 



food to silk-worms just before they began spinning 
their cocoons. His first experiments were con- 
ducted with indigo, which he mixed in certain 
proportions with the mulberry-leaves, serving the 
worms for food. The result of this treatment was 
successful — he obtained blue cocoons. Prosecut- 
ing still further his experiments, he sought a red- 
coloring matter capable of being eaten by the 
silk-worms, without injury resulting. He' had 
some difficulty to find such a coloring matter at 
first, but eventually alighted on the Bignonia 
chica. Small portions of this plant having been 
added to the mulberry leaves, the silkworms con- 
sumed the mixture, and produced red-colored silk. 
In this manner the experimenter, who is still pro- 
secuting his researches, hopes to obtain silk, as 
secreted by the worm, of many other colors. — 

largest ox did not furnish more than twenty pints ; 
it was thick and albuminous. The hands, when 
immersed in this blood, were not spotted by it. 
The poison appeared to spread in the blood, and 
to change the rest of the organs through its in- 
tervention. I believe that all domestic animals, 
except the goat, die of the bite of this insect ; 
calves, and other young animals, are secure from 
it during the whole time that they are sucking ; 
man and all wild animals are also proof against 
its venom. — W. Oswell, in the ComjJtes Bendus, 
October 16, 1852. 

" The Christmas Bose."—Do, Mr. Editor, let 
me call your attention, and that of your readers, 
to the value of this plant as an ornament to our 
gardens during the winter months. There is 
surely no reason why the flower-garden should 
present the dull and repulsive aspect it usually 
exhibits at this season of the year. At least, if 
any reason there be, it is not found in the fact 
that no means exist of obviating it. And I am 
happy to find the subject is beginning to occupy 
attention. In the meanwhile, I know of no plant 
better deserving the notice of those who are anx- 
ious to have a winter-garden, than that which I 
have named. It commences its flowering in No- 
vember, and lasts till March or April. Nothing is 
easier than its culture. It will invariably thrive 
in good vegetable mould; but it does not like too 
frequent a removal. It is very useful, too, as a 
green-house plant during the winter. When in- 
tended for this use, the plants should be kept 
plunged in ashes in a shady place during the 
summer, and removed to the house when they 
begin to bloom. — "W. T. 

The Venomous Fly of Southern Africa. — This 
fly, called by the natives Tsetes, is the same that 
was found to the east of the Limpopo, and which 
infests the country of Sebitoani ; it is fortunately 
confined to certain localities, from which it never 
removes. The inhabitants lead their cattle within 
a certain distance of the places where it is found; 
and if they are compelled, in moving about, to 
cross those portions of the country infested by the 
insect, they choose for this purpose a moonlight 
night in the winter, because the insect does not 
bite during the nights of the cold season. From 
what I have seen, I think that it only requires 
three or four flies to kill a large ox. We examined 
about a score of ours which had been bitten and 
died ; they all presented the same appearances. 
On removing the skin, the muscles had a slimy 
aspect, and appeared much altered. The stomach 
and intestines were healthy ; the heart, the lungs, 
the liver, sometimes all at once, and always one 
or other of these organs, were affected. The 
heart especially attracted our attention ; it was no 
longer a hard muscle, but a contracted and 
emaciated organ, which might be crushed by the 
least pressure ot its walls ; it resembled flesh 
which had been soaked in water. The blood was 
diminished in quantity and altered in quality. The 

Love one another! — Your delightful corres- 
pondent, Naxxette, has sent you many nice little 
pickings from her " Note-Book." Let me also 
assist in the good cause advocated by our Jour- 
nal. The subjoined, from the pen of Charles 
Swain, is, I think, worthy general regard. There 
is so very little loving and forgiving going on in 
" the days we live in," that it may perchance 
have some good effect. Let us hope so. — Rose. 

Oh, loving and forgiving — 

Ye angel-words of earth, 
Years were not worth the living 

If ye too had not birth ! 
Oh, loving and forbearing — 

How sweet your mission here ; 
The grief that ye are sharing 

Hath blessings in its tear ! 

Oh, stern and unforgiving — 

Ye evil words of life, 
That mock the means of living 

With never-ending strife ! 
Oh, harsh and unrepenting — 

How would ye meet the grave, 
If Heaven, as unrelenting, 

Forbore not, nor forgave ! 

Oh, loving and forgiving — 

Sweet sisters of the soul, 
In whose celestial firing 

The passions find control ! 
Still breathe your influence o'er us 

Whene'er by passion crost, 
And, angel-like, restore us 

The paradise we lost. 

[Thank you, dear Rose. Any garland, so 
twined, will be always acceptable.] 

Jlore of the Fidelity of the Dog. — The following, 
Mr. Editor, is recorded in the " Dundee and 
Perth Advertiser," as having just occurred in 
Perth. — " Our respected Braemar carrier, Alex- 
ander Grant, in his going north last week, was 
overtaken with a violent snow-storm on the Cairn- 
well ; and finding it impossible to proceed from 
the drifting snow, he saw no alternative but to 
lock up his van, take his horse from the carriage, 
and retrace his steps to the Spital Inn. This he 
did with much difficulty ; and calling on his dog 
to follow, he did not miss him until arriving at 
: the inn. After a diligent search, no dog was to 
| be found. But when, on the following Monday, 
Mr. Grant went with assistance, to get his cart 
J dug out of the snow, to his astonishment there 
j was his faithful dog ; alive, and in charge of the 
van, having watched it two days and two nights ! 
j Such an animal is truly valuable ; and such an 



instance is another proof of the fidelity and attach- 
ment of these creatures to their masters and pro- 
perty." — I know, Mr. Editor, how readily you will 
give insertion to this. If men were to take a 
lesson now and then out of a dog's book, it would 
do society no harm, — would it? — Louisa T. 

[You are right, Louisa. The dog is a noble 
animal ; and repeatedly proves himself far supe- 
rior to Man, — his master.] 

The Late Poultry Show at Birmingham. — 
With reference to the weight of the prize birds at 
Birmingham, or indeed anywhere, says Mr. J. 
Baily, it must be borne in mind that size, and 
consequently weight, are only valuable when allied 
to the other points, that mark purity of breed and 
stamp the value of a fowl. Thus, in Cochin 
Chinas, the pen exhibited by Mr. Sturgeon, which 
took the first prize, was exceedingly heavy ; but 
tJiey were also symmetrical. The hens nearly 
averaged eleven pounds each, and the cock sur- 
passed them. If these had lacked feathering on 
the leg, their size would not have secured the 
prize. Again, these weights are exceptions to 
the rule, and the owner of Cochin China cocks of 
9^ or 10 lbs., and pullets of 8 or 8§- lbs., posses- 
ses, so far as size is concerned, first-rate birds. 
The Dorkings were very heavy, but they kick the 
beam when put in the scale with the birds we 
have just mentioned. The heaviest hen in the 
show was the property of the Hon. and Rev. 
Stephen Lawley; she weighed 8£ lbs. This 
again is an exception. There were plenty of 
cocks 8|> and pullets 7 and 7^ lbs. In all these 
classes, it must be borne in mind, the birds ex- 
hibited are the pickings of the United Kingdom. 
Cocks 1\ lbs. and pullets 6^ lbs. are good birds, 
and about the average of the stocks kept, where 
they are carefully attended to, and of first-rate 
strains. But if they weighed 12 lbs. each, and 
were four-toed or black-legged, they would be dis- 
qualified. The smallest bantams weighed from 
12 to 16 oz. each. A bantam-cock should not 
exceed 17 oz. nor a hen 14 oz. But here, again, 
if one weighed but seven, sickle feathers in the 
tail, or long hackle and saddle, or feathered legs, 
or single comb, would disqualify a Sebright. 
These are the breeds in which great or small 
weights are most esteemed. But it will be seen 
that, although important and essential when com- 
bined with other properties, they are only acces- 
sories to success. To hope for pre-eminence in 
any breed, it is not enough to have good birds ; 
the amateur must breed largely to give him oppor- 
tunity for selection. It is said of Lord Rivers, 
many years ago, that he was once asked how he 
succeeded in having always first-rate grey-hounds ? 
He answered, " I breed many, and hang many." 
This was the secret of his success. The same 
will be found in exhibiting fowls — successful com- 
petitors breed largely and keep the best. When 
it is wished to rear poultry, for competing in 
classes where size is a desideratum, care should 
be taken to feed the chickens from the first as well 
as possible. A check at a fortnight old is never 
recovered. The chicken may live, grow up, and 
do well ; but it will never carry the prize from one 
that has progressed uninterruptedly. This is true 
of all the Gallinaceous tribes. The weights of 
the turkeys were as follows : — Cocks 22|, 21 J, 19, 

and 19| lbs. each. The first and largest was 
of the ordinary breed of Cambridgeshire The 
others were copper and American. The hens 
from 11 to 14 lbs. each The geese weighed 
from 20 \ to lb\ lbs. The successful pens, 1 
gander and 2 geese in each, weighed 58^, 52^, 
and 50 lbs. Last year, 1851, the Rev. John 
Robinson, of Widmerpool, sent a gander weigh- 
ing 29 lbs. The best ducks averaged 5j lbs 
each. — I quite agree with you Mr. Editor, about 
Poultry. Say what you will, the Dorking, all 
things considered, is " the " best of all known 
fowls — both for eggs and the table. — A Wilson. 

Brutal Conduct to a Bony at Oxford. — No 
doubt, Mr. Editor, you have read the account in 
the newspapers, .of the recent horrible case heard 
before the magistrates at Bumham, Bucks, with 
reference to the monster named Prickett, who laid 
a wager to drive his pony to London and back, 
(120 miles) in twenty hours ! The details of his 
cruelty are too sickening to be laid before your 
readers, but the wretch deserves public exposure. 
His name is Peickett, and he is the landlord of 
the Btough, at Oxford. His " fine," as levied by 
the tender-hearted magistrates, was 40s.. and the 
costs 33s. ! — A Lover of Humanity, Henley- 

[This fellow is a monster indeed ! But for the 
" Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to 
Animals'' — how everybody hates this valuable 
society ! he would have escaped altogether. As 
for the " fine," — the magistrates, when they named 
it, must have been dreaming ; if not, they must 
have been iron-hearted. How any civilised men 
could sit and hear what we have read in the 
newspapers, and which we take it for granted 
must be true — without shuddering, and adminis- 
tering something like "'justice" to the criminal, 
we know not. Perhaps they were fox-hunters ; 
if so all is explained. " Birds of a feather, etc." 

Cochin China Fowls. — Although, Mr. Editor, I 
agree with you, that no fowl can surpass the 
Dorking for the table, nor the Hamburghs for 
eggs, — yet let me put in a plea for the Cochins. 
They unite both qualities. They lay well ; and 
their eggs are of a good size. They commence 
laying when about seven months old. The gait 
of the pullet is not unlike that of the Dorking. 
Mine are of a good form ; short on the leg, and 
very full bodied. The cocks are longer on the 
legs than the Dorkings ; and have a peculiar 
gait. One of mine crows very clearly. It is 
" lengthened sweetness long drawn out." The 
Cochins weigh heavy. Cocks average lOlbs; and 
pullets 8lbs when full grown. I find these birds 
more hardy than any others. I did not lose one 
chicken last season. I had one hatch of half-bred 
birds, — a cross between the Cochin and Dorking. 
These came off last October. The mother died in 
a fortnight afterwards. However, the chickens 
reared themselves, and are now A 1. It was 
very pleasing to watch the little creatures huddle 
together at night , in some hay I gave them ! I 
have not yet tasted the flesh of the thorough 
bred birds ; but those from the cross I speak of 
are excellent fowl for the table. They weigh, 
when six months old, from 6 to 7lbs per head. — 
C. P., Boston, Lincolnshire. 



Sow to cure Parrots of pulling out their Fea- 
thers. — I have read in our Journal, various 
complaints of the difficulty that exists in curing 
parrots of this disfiguring habit ; and I have 
never felt satisfied that any of the modes pro- 
posed as "cures," went to the bottom of the 
evil ; in fact, the disease, for disease it is, is evi- 
dently not understood. I have at the request of 
a correspondent, made an inquiry on the subject 
in the Naturalist. In the remarks I am now 
about to make, I am by no means sure that I 
have approached nearer to a solution of the diffi- 
culty ; but they may suggest to those interested, 
a more probable clue to the origin of the habit 
than would arise from any of the articles above 
alluded to. I take no credit to myself for the 
idea. ' It has been conveyed to me by Mr. D. 
Graham, a most respectable and first-rate bird- 
stuffer, of this city (YorkJ. Knowing that he 
kept a grey parrot, I spoke to him on the sub- 
ject of parrots denuding themselves of their fea- 
thers. He said that a Falconer (I believe in the 
employment of the Duke of Leeds) had told him 
that the habit was caused by the presence of an 
insect of some kind, and that a certain cure for it 
was to wash the bird in whiskey. It struck me at 
once, that this was an excellent suggestion ; and 
that it could do no harm to hint as much in our 
Journal — supplying the "bane and antidote" at 
the same time. The proper mode of investiga- 
ting the subject would be — to examine the 
skin of one of the diseased birds with a strong 
magnifier. The parasite would be either 
a Pediculus, of a moderate size — probably 
not less than one-twentieth of an inch 
long, or an Acarus, like the itch insect, and which 
would not be visible, unless greatly magnified. 
Should any little pustules or pimples be observed, 
they should be opened with a needle. The matter 
exuding therefrom, should then be placed on a 
piece of glass ; and when covered with a second 
piece of glass, submitted to a microscope of high 
powers. This would determine the question ; for 
should an Acarus be present, it would readily be 
seen. I am inclined to suspect that an Acarus is 
the enemy ; and, in such case, whiskey or any 
other spirit, would be a certain cure. I shall be 
very glad to hear the result of any experiments 
on this matter, resulting from these remarks. — 
Beverley R, Morris, M.D., York, Jan. 21, 1853. 

[A question is here raised, in which we know 
not how many hundreds — perhaps thousands of 
persons, feel deeply interested. Parrots, in this 
country, are extensively " petted," and very large 
sums are given for "good birds." It is truly 
vexatious, to see some of these costly animals 
suffering from an unknown enemy, who deslroys, or 
eats away, all that is elegant in their varied 
costume. We will canvass the subject ; and, if 
possible, arrive at the direct cause of the evil.] 


" Three bunches a-penny, primroses ! " 


" Three bunches a-penny, primroses ! " 

Yes ; dear is the greeting of Spring, 
When she offers her dew-spangled posies, 
The fairest creation can bring ! 

" Three bunches a-penny, primroses ! " 

The echo resounds in the mart ; 
And the simple " cry" often uncloses 
The worldly bars grating man's heart. 

We reflect, we contrive, and we reckon 
How best we can gather up wealth. 

We go where bright finger-posts beckon, 
Till we wander from Nature and Health. 

But the " old cry" shall burst on our scheming, 
The song of " Primroses" shall flow ; 

And " Three bunches a-penny" set dreaming 
Of all that we loved long ago. 

It brings visions of meadow and mountain, 

Of valley, and streamlet, and hill ; 
When Life's ocean but played in a fountain — 

Ah, would that it sparkled so still ! 

It conjures back shadowless hours, 

When we threaded the wild forest ways ; 

When our own hand went seeking the flowers, 
And our own lips were shouting their praise. 

The perfume and tint of the blossom 
Are as fresh in vale, dingle, and glen ; 

But say, is the pulse of our bosom 
As warm and as bounding as then ? 

" Three bunches a-penny, primroses ! " 

" Three bunches a penny, — come buy ! " 
A blessing on all the spring posies, 

And good-will to the poor ones who cry ! 



I will think on thee, when Summer flowers 

Near thy happy home are springing ; 
When the sun brightly beams on our favorite 

And the birds are sweetly singing. 
Again I will visit the path where we rov'd, 

Bright joys that still fondly endear thee ; 
I will wander again o'er the scenes that you 

And fancy that thou art still near me. 

I will think on thee, when the Wintry wind 

Howls a requiem o'er the departed ; 
I remember thy pity, thy love for mankind, 

Whom sorrow had left broken-hearted. 
And I'll pray that true peace may for ever be 

Thy name I will breathe most devoutly ; 
Oh ! when shall thy dear smiles again brightly 

On the heart that is lonely without thee ? 

I will think on thee when fortune lowers, 
When sorrow and sadness distress me ; 

I will think on thee in my happier hours; 
Yes ; my lips shall for ever bless thee. 

I know I am fondly remembered by thee, 
This hope sweetly beams on the morrow ; 

But I need thy kind aid, and a prayer breath'd 
for me, 

To lighten my heart of its sorrow. 






If solid Happiness we prize, 
Within our breast this jewel lies ; 

And they are fools who roam. 
The world has nothing to bestow ; 
From our own selves our joys must flow, 

And that dear hut, oub. home. 


Happiness is a road-side flower, growing in the high- 
ways of usefulness. Plucked, it srhall wither in thy 
hand ; passed by, it is fragrance to thy spirit . 


UESTIONABLE indeed is 
that which mankind call 
Happiness ! Much has been 
written on the subject, by 
the best of men ; but it 
never had, never will have, 
any lasting good effect. The 
world have their own ideas about it, and all 
argument is vain. 

We took occasion, in our second volume, 
to call attention to the fatal folly exhibited 
by those who, despite of all warning, would 
give up good situations in England to seek 
their fortunes in foreign climes. This folly 
has been already repented of by many thou- 
sands who have reached Australia, and are 
now starving there. Letters innumerable are 
daily arriving full of ill-news; yet is the 
mania for " gold, gold, gold," still on the 
increase. There are more people waiting 
to go out, than there are ships to receive 

For us, or indeed for any body, to attempt 
to argue with people mad for gold — the very 
name of which makes them forsake friends 
and country — would be folly. We say, let 
■ such madmen go ; and let them be well 
punished for their folly. Perhaps they will 
return, as many have already done, wiser 
men. Our heart has ached, whilst listening 
to the dismal tales of woe related by those 
who have given up their all for a mere 
shadow. They went out full of glee, dream- 
ing of gold and happiness. They have re- 
turned home penniless, and truly miserable. 
Many of our well-salaried clerks, redolent of 
kid gloves, pomatum, and macassar, whose 
" heavy" hours of " business" averaged daily 
some six or eight hours, are among the ven- 
turers. These, we learn, are in a most de- 
plorable condition. They find lavender- 
water, cambric handkerchiefs, a well cut 
coat, and figured shirts, little esteemed there. 
Gold rings, too, on their fingers, and large 
diamond pins in their shirt-fronts, stand 
them in little stead. They gaze upon the 
gold, exhibited in large lumps at the win- 
dows of the dealers, and wish themselves 
at home again ! The accounts received of 
these silly boys are very laughable ; but 
they really ought to have a voice, seeing that 

many hundreds of other equally silly boys 
are preparing to follow suit. This by way 
of a hint. 

The subjoined extracts from a letter, gives 
so fair a statement of Life at the Diggings, 
that we feel sure our readers will enjoy a 
perusal of them. The letter was written by 
a son to his mother. The names of the par- 
ties, of course, we suppress : — 

Melbourne, July 30, 1852.— I told you of my 
start for the diggings, with my stores, &c, in 
mine of the 28th of April. On my arrival our 
company broke up, and I, joining with Dr. M'C, 
worked there till the latter end of June (in the 
most part of the time dreadful wet weather), when, 
as we had clone very little good in that time, 
owing to the obstacles thrown in our way by the 
continued wet, I sold off my stores at very good 
prices, and returned to Melbourne, which I 
reached again on the 8th of this month. I sold 
flour, that I had given £3 per bag for, for £16 ; 
sugar, for which I had given 3d. per lb., at Is 6d., 
and so on. My two horses, cart, and harness, cost 
me close on £80 ; I sold them for 3lb 2f oz. of 
gold, which at £2 17s. per ounce, was £110, the 
price agreed upon by the buyer ; but I brought 
the gold to Melbourne, and sold at £3 3s. per ounce, 
so that they brought me in £121, I making about 
£40 by the transaction. But such a sum as £40 
is not thought much of here now, as gold-diggers 
think nothing frequently of giving £50 or £60 
for a couple of two-horse flys to drive a wedding 
party about the town for two or three hours. 

There are one or two of those weddings here 
nearly every day. The party drive up one street 
and down another half the day ; shewing them- 
selves off, and getting gradually drunk as the day 
advances. You would stare in London to see 
such a wedding, the whole party, excepting per- 
haps, the bride and bridesmaids, smoking ; and 
generally one, the drunkest of the party, leaning 
half over the back of the fly, black bottle in hand, 
inviting the public in general to have a ' nobbier.' 
One of these weddings frequently costs the ' happy 
bride-groom' £300 or £400. 

We understand, that very little indeed can 
be said about u virtue" here. No females 
whatever, of any respectability, can go about 
unprotected ; even what they see on every 
hand, is enough to shake their principles to the 
very foundation. Modesty is all but unknown 
This we can readily understand — but how 
deplorable the thought ! Let us inquire fur- 
ther, about the accommodation afforded to 
new-comers : — 

August 31. — People are flocking in from all 
countries now, and there is not accommodation for 
a tenth of them. Some have to sleep in sheds, &c, 
who never knew anything but a feather-bed in 

Let our scented young clerks, with their 
oiled and curled locks, and Spanish leather 
boots, think of this. There will be no Tur- 
key carpets to receive them at night —no 
divans where they can loll away their time 

Vol. III.— 5. 



and choke themselves with the fumes of 
smoke. But we will proceed : — 

We have had very heavy rains lately ; several 
people have been drowned on their way to and from 
the diggings, in attempting to swim the creeks, as 
the government does not think of platting any 
bridges where they are required; indeed, the peo- 
ple are beginning to murmur against the abomina- 
ble way in which our government is at present 
carried on. The people can, and very soon will, 
govern themselves, if the authorities are not very 
soon altered, or change their mode of action — if 
6uch a word as ' action ' may be used for their utter 
imbecility. You cannot walk the streets of the 
&ty after dark, without being armed. I never go 
out at night without hacing an open knife in my 

This, too, is a pleasant state of affairs. 
How very soundly a person must sleep in 
such a " happy land !" 

Robberies are committed also in the open day 
with impunity, whilst the Legislative Council is 
debating whether they shall give policemen 7s. 6d. 
or 7s. 9d. per day, when no man will work under 
10s. at even road-scraping. I cannot have lost 
less than between £300 or £400 by the mis-man- 
agement of the post-office, letters being misdaid, 
mis-sent, and lost altogether, day after day. We 
want a Vigilance Committee here as in California, 
and I would be one of the first to join it. It saved 
California, and we shall have no safety until it is 
adopted here. There are marriage parties driving 
about every day, as I described in my last. I was 
at the Botanical-gardens last Sunday ; and there 
were diggers' wives promenading, most splendidly 
dressed in silks, satins, velvets, feathers, and jewel- 
lery ivlio had been servants in situations a week 

These frauds by the post-office people are, 
we know, very common. " Help yourself 
seems quite the order of the day. It must be 
good fun to see the loutish servants, bowed 
down beneath the weight of their finery. 
Silks, satins, velvets, feathers, and jewellery 
must " set off" their vulgar persons nicely ! 

September 2. — There are about one thousand 
five hundred people arriving here every week ; 
this number will soon be two thousand. Hitherto, 
we have only had them from the surrounding colo- 
nies ; the stream is now commencing in earnest 
from England, the mother country, as she is called, 
but she is a mother that does not know how to 
govern her children. Everybody now is doing 
well, that the weather will permit to do anything. 
In nearly every shop, such as a tailor's, there is a 
bill up with ' Thirty good hands wanted.' Car- 
penters are advertised as being wanted, wages £1 
per day. Dressmakers and milliners in propor- 
tion ; and more than they can do. Pastrycooks 
are making small fortunes from mere wedding- 
cakes, one about six or eight inches diameter cost- 
ing £4 or £5. If it is £4, the digger throws down 
a £5-note, and takes a handful of gingerbread- 
nuts as change. Melbourne is literally crowded 
with ' new chums,' who are at their wits'-end where 
to lay their heads. They stand with open mouths 
at the windows of the gold-brokers' shops, admir- 

ing the golden show ; the window is generally set 
out with three or four glass vases filled with gold, 
large pieces of the same metal being placed sepa- 
rate when weighing above lib. or so. The rest 
of the window is generally filled up with rolls of 
bank-notes, and piles of sovereigns. All this re- 
flected by a looking-glass, forms a very attractive 
sight to newly arrived gold seekers. Some of these 
windows must contain from £9,000 to £10,000. 

A tempting Bight this, for the dapper 
young clerks on landing. They must surely 
u dream" of gold the first night 1 But now 
for the gold-brokers. Are they honest? 
We shall see : — 

The gold-broker has a happy facility in convert- 
ing into an office any space large enough to con- 
tain himself and a pair of scales. The passage or 
private entrance of a shop is frequently made into 
an ' office' by having a green-baize partition at 
the back of the broker, who pays £5 per week for 
the accommodation. Some of these 'take in' 
diggers to a great extent. One of their tricks is 
as follows • — A digger goes into one of these offices 
with his bag of dust and nuggets, which the bro- 
ker requests him to empty on a large sheet of 
whity-brown or other large paper. He then be- 
gins a vigorous ' rousing' with his fingers, and a 
magnet to extract the iron-stone from among it ; 
and, a good deal of blowing and shaking having 
been gone through in a careless off-hand manner, 
he empties the lot into the scale. ' Seven and 
four is eight, eight and three is eleven, eleven and 
four is fourteen ; fourteen ounces, four penny- 
weights and a half, at £3.7s an ounce, £43 ; there's 
a check, Sir.' Now, all this shaking, &c, is to 
make a portion of gold pass through two nicks 
each, in two sheets of paper. When he takes it 
to put the gold into the scale, he shifts the two 
sheets, so that the nicks are no longer over each 
other. Consequently they cannot be seen, even 
if the seller has any suspicion. Sometimes, after 
shaking and blowing the gold in the above man- 
ner, he offers 2s per ounce less than the digger 
can get anywhere else, who of course declines sell- 
ing, and goes away with an ounce or so less than 
he came with. Some never buy an ounce, but 
have a pound or two to sell at the end of the week. 
Some scales have the beam divided unequally, so 
that it takes a quarter of an ounce to turn the 
scale. If one half of the beam is the 16th of an 
inch longer than the other, it will take this. The 
way to beat them at this work is, to reverse the 
gold and weights from one scale to the other. The 
known weight of gold that has been sent from 
here up to this date is sixty-four tons ; but this 
does not include that which parties take away of 
their own. The number of persons that arrived 
in Melbourne last week was 4,283; who left it, 
390 ; leaving an addition to our population in one 
week of 3,803. 

So much for Melbourne, and its civilisation. 
No employment is there, of any kind, for the 
mind; no thought required beyond the pre- 
sent moment. Eating, drinking, sleeping, 
and gold digging, are here reckoned the 
summum bonum of human happiness. Let 
us hear what another writer says of Adelaide, 



where a seven-and-sixpenny tin-dish realises 
20s., and a fifteen-penny shovel produces 
10s. — all in an instant ! 

Never was the labor-market worse supplied than 
at present. Even during the panic in January 
and February last, labor was to be had at such a 
rate as not materially to interfere with the prose- 
cution of profitable industrial operations. Now, 
however, it is either not to be had at all, or not 
without such an advance in the wages as is per- 
fectly paralysing to the employer. Several causes 
have contributed to this. First, the continued 
absence of a number of the less successful portion 
of the laboring population at the Victoria gold 
diggings. Second, the indisposition of those who 
have returned with the means of supporting them- 
selves without labor, to return to their former ac- 
customed occupations. Third, the withdrawal of 
so many persons to the South Australian or 
Echunga diggings, at a time when the labor mar- 
ket of the colony was suffering under an excess of 
depletion. Fourthly, the rise in the price of pro- 
visions and most of the other necessaries of life, 
rendering it difficult, if not next to impossible, for 
people to feed and clothe themselves at the former 
rate of wages. And, fifthly, the feverish excite- 
ment which the expectation of becoming success- 
ful gold-diggers constantly keeps up ; and the ease 
with which parties, whatever their former employ- 
ments, can transform themselves into this cha- 

No one, not on the spot, can adequately conceive 
the effect produced in Adelaide by the reported 
discovery of gold in workable quantities in 
Echunga. In less than three days the 2lb. loaf 
was up to 8d. ; and wood and water were at 
double their former prices. For tin dishes, the 
former price of which was 7s 6d, £1 was asked 
and obtained. Shovels, invoiced at Is 3d to Is 9d, 
readily sold at 8s to 10s, and picks and most other 
tools went off at a like advance. Of course, there 
were great complaints against the vendors of these 
articles; but they justified themselves in return, 
by referring to the daily increasing price of wages. 
This is mentioned with the view of showing the 
deep necessity there is for a constant stream of 
emigration from the United Kingdom being kept 
up. Nothing else can save the colony from utter 
prostration. There is at this moment a million 
sterling lying idle in Adelaide for the want of 
hands to employ it. Tradesmen and artisans of 
every description, no less than shepherds and agri- 
cultural laborers, would find instant employment 
at remunerative wages, without troubling them- 
selves about the gold fields. 

A pretty picture of society is this ! But 
who will cultivate the " domestic arts," when 
gold is to be had? "Aye, there's the rub." 
— Poor Adelaide ! 

We conclude this graphic sketch of men 
and manners, with an extract from a recent 
number of the Melbourne Herald. We shall 
glean from it some idea of the value of land 
and house speculation in Australia : — 

Two years ago, a solicitor bought one hundred 
acres of land on the other side of the Yarra, ad- 
joining the property of Colonel Anderson and Ma- 

jor Davidson. The terms were £500 at five years' 
credit, being eight per cent, interest. Last week 
this property, less twelve allotments (which the 
proprietor has reserved to himself), was divided 
into building lots, and sold by Messrs. Stubbs and 
Son for £5,000. And it is a fact that parties who 
purchased at the sale are re -selling at 100 per 
cent, profit already. Geelong Land Sale — Not a 
single lot was withdrawn, and many allotments 
realised very high prices. The Ballarat allotments, 
of two roods each, ranged from £80 to £270. The 
total amount of the first day's sale was £5,276., 
and of the second day's, £38,000. Value of town 
property : — A gentleman of our acquaintance, who 
about two years since erected premises near the 
wharf, which, together with the land upon which 
they were built, cost £2,600, has, within the last 
few days, been offered £9,800 cash down for them, 
and has refused the offer, from a conviction that 
town property has not yet attained its maximum 

From all this, we arrive at " a great fact." 
Mechanics, laborers, and all who are adepts 
at the useful arts, may at once enter on the 
road to fortune. People too who have money 
at their command, can, by investment, readily 
treble it. But for the rest, they had better 
tarry where they are. Bad as they may 
consider things here, they will find them in- 
finitely worse abroad. Sinecures there, are 
unknown ; kid -gloves are not recognised; 
and " six-hour men" are not allowed to have 
it all their own way. People who will not 
work, must starve ; or come back and " put 
up with" their paltry £150 and £200 a year 
— if they can get it. 



A friend of mine, Mr. Editor, having 
informed me of the immense quantity of 
wild fowl frequenting the western shores of 
Connaught (Western Ireland), I thought 
I could not do better than wend my 
way thither, and spend a fortnight in that 
wild and desolate portion of Her Majesty's 
dominions, so ably described by poor Max- 
well in his " Wild Sports of the West." 

I left home about 8 A.M., one fine morn- 
ing in the early part of August last (1852), 
arrived at Holyhead, via Chester, by express 
train, at 5, p.m., and in half an hour after- 
wards rounded the " South Stack," in that 
superb little steamboat, the " Anglia." We 
arrived at Kingstown an hour after our 
time (12 o'clock), in consequence of a head- 
wind. Thence we proceeded per rail to 
Dublin, which occupied a quarter of an 
hour. I put up at " Egginton's Hotel" in 
College Green ; and here let me advise any 
of the readers of " Kidd's Journal," visiting 
Dublin, if they love comfort at an hotel, 
combined with attention and exceedingly 
moderate charges, to go to " Egginton's." I 




can assure them they will not repent having 
taken my advice. The next morning I made 
a tour of the city ; and at 4 P.M., set off per 
Midland Great Western for Mullingar. From 
the latter place I departed per mail coach 
for Ballina, a distance of about seventy 
Irish miles, equal to a hundred English. 
The coach starts from Mullingar at 10 p.m., 
and arrives at Ballina about 10 A.M., the 
next day. From thence I sej; off across the 
country, and passing through Castlebar and 
Westport, finally arrived at Newport, a small 
village near the coast. 

I would here caution any young sports- 
man, or naturalist, who fancies that by 
going to such "a wild, out-of-the-way 
place," as Western Ireland, he can live and 
cruize about at a cheaper rate there than in 
any other part of the British Isles. This is 
all moonshine. Nearly all the inns are 
most exorbitant in their charges ; and in 
the aforesaid little village of Newport, 
another gentleman and myself were charged 
half-a-crown each for what they were 
pleased to call " a dinner." This " dinner" 
consisted of four mutton chops, served up 
in a small public house bearing the name of 
" Hotel." The waiters at these places are 
the most voracious set of fellows I have 
ever met with. They certainly do amuse 
you at your meals by their odd tales ; but 
they take special care to make you pay well 
for your amusement, and higgle with you 
ten times worse than a London cabman. I 
found the best way to manage them was, to 
get back what they had refused, and then 
politely inform them that they should have 
nothing. I mention these little matters by 
way of duty. Every travelling naturalist 
ought to communicate to his brethren such 
facts as may be of use to them, if peradven- 
ture they should ever travel in his footsteps. 

A week after my arrival, I started for 
the entrance of Clew Bay. I found it just 
the place I had pictured to myself. Imagine 
an immense bay, filled with islands, high 
mountains on either side, with Clare Island 
stationed at its mouth. Here and there, 
close to the shore, were cabins or native cot- 
tages ; and one of them I made my home 
during my stay. 

There are many who talk largely about 
how they have "roughed it" in small public 
houses on the English coast ; but I'll venture 
to say, if they paid a visit to a cabin in the 
wilds of Connaught, they might use that 
term more appropriately. But in my various 
peregrinations in search of specimens, I have 
been introduced to a few hardships both by 
sea ( when the vessel I was in was 
wrecked, and nearly a hundred of my poor 
fellow-mortals met with a watery grave), 
and land. These have caused me to think 
lightly of such minor matters as mud floors, 

fleas, and cock-roaches. The room I occu- 
pied contained two beds, an old chest, a 
table, and a broken chair or two ; but with 
these, and a jolly good peat fire, I felt far 
happier than if seated in the most splendid 
drawing-room. At night, as the wind 
moaned through the shutters, and the rain 
descended in torrents on the thatch, I 
heaped more turf on the fire ; and as the 
cheerful blaze rushed up the chimney, I 
filled my " dudheen," and mixing a glass of 
glorious " toddy," sat and amused myself 
with the past numbers of " Kidd's Own," 
Mudie, Col. Hawker, and others. 

My days were generally spent in sailing 
about the bay, or scrambling over the hills 
and moorlands, looking out for specimens ; 
and the result of my observations may be 
combined in the following rough notes, 
which I made during my short stay in that 
wild yet beautiful country. 

The heron was common ; and usually to be 
found standing motionless, upon some small 
rock close in shore, watching for prey. I 
saw one of these birds in a domestic state 
in a poulterer's shop in Dublin ; and the 
owner informed me that he had been in his 
possession for upwards of twenty years. His 
food consisted solely of the windpipes of 
ducks and geese, which I saw given to him. 
Cormorants, too, were very common. I 
descried them in companies of seven or 
eight, sailing about the bay. They allowed 
the boat to come within thirty yards, keep- 
ing their heads and necks only above water. 
They kept very close together, and dived 
the instant the gun went off, so that it was 
difficult to kill them. I shot four on the 
11th of August One of them had the belly 
and underside dusky- white ; while the others 
were clothed with green. The boatmen and 
their families ate them for supper, and de- 
clared they were very good. 

Of gulls there were hundreds. I noticed 
four or five different kinds. Wherever the 
poor people were to be seen collecting 
cockles, sand eels, &c, there were the gulls 
sure to be in crowds, sailing over their 
heads, and every now and then dipping 
down for some of the small fish thrown 
away. When the tide had receded in the 
night time, and the moon had risen, it was 
delightful to sit and listen to the cries of 
the gulls, and other sea birds. The hoarse 
scream of the largest species of gull, might 
be heard at the distance of a mile with the 
greatest ease. Curlews were in great num- 
bers. These birds are a great annoyance to 
the coast shooter, in consequence of their 
timid habits. They generally have a senti- 
nel posted upon some rocky eminence ; and 
at the first appearance of danger, he imme- 
diately gives the loud peculiar note of alarm. 
This causes the whole body of curlews to 



rise up, and with them the golden plover, 
redshanks, &c, leaving the weary sports- 
man to toil over the sandbanks again and 
again without once getting a shot. 

The golden plover I found in flocks of 
thirty or forty. At full tide, these birds 
leave the coast for the moors and uplands, 
and there await the turn of the tide. I 
was frequently astonished at the regularity 
witli which they returned to the shore. 
At the very precise period of the tide 
beginning to ebb, did they make their ap- 
pearance from the hills. Redshanks were 
common, frequenting the sandbanks, and 
mixing with the curlews. Oyster catchers, 
(called there u sea-pies") were also common, 
generally six or seven together. Ring plovers 
were in abundance. I saw from two to three 
hundred in a flock, one day. It is a pretty 
sight to see these little birds together upon 
the sand, running about in search of insects ; 
now and then giving chase to each other, 
and opening out their wings as they run. 
They are very tame, and will allow a person 
to come within fifteen yards of them. Puffins 
were frequently to be met with, out in the 
bay ; generally in pairs. They remain a 
considerable time under water, and go a 
great distance at each dive. 

Purres were common on the sand- 
banks ; they fly very swiftly ; indeed, I 
saw no sea bird equal to them. Of divers, 
there were two or three kinds, very difficult 
to kill, invariably ducking to the flash. I 
procured two very pretty specimens. They 
are almost always found in pairs. One day 
I came upon an old one, and a brood of 
young ones, close in shore. I shot one of 
the latter, which was of a brownish plumage, 
and had a deeply serrated beak. Wild 
ducks were common, frequenting the marshy 
ground near the shore. Of ravens, I saw 
but one in the mountains, above Ballycroy. 
Rooks were common enough. The hooded- 
crow frequented the rocks about the shore, 
picking up small fish, &c. Snipes were very 
numerous in the marshes and bogs, but were 
difficult to get at, in consequence of the in- 
secure state of the surface. One minute I 
was on hard soil, the next up to my middle 
in soft, pulpy matter. Magpies were com- 
mon about the cultivated ground. The 
pretty little wheat-ear I found in small 
flocks, among the rocks on the mountain 
sides ; and the sky-lark might be heard every 
day. The little wren too was by no means 
scarce, and generally frequented the stone 
walls. The stone-chat I found in pairs. 
One pair of these birds frequented our cabin. 
The male was very tame, and was to be seen 
each day perched upon the stone wall, 
chattering and flirting his tale about. On 
the moor, the red grouse occurred in great, 
plenty ; as also the tit-lark. The merlin and 

sparrow-hawk were not uncommon on the 
moors ; a specimen of the former I brought 
home with me alive. 

The bay was well supplied with the dif- 
ferent kinds of fish ; and I saw seals every 
time I went out. They would not, however, 
allow the boat to come near them, always 
popping their heads under water when we 
came within eighty or a hundred yards. 
These animals must live famously in Clew 
Bay, for there is no want of food. I saw 
many porpoises rolling about. It is wonder- 
ful to hear the roar the mackerel make, when 
they arrive in the bay. Many a time did I 
tell the boatmen to keep silence, that I 
might listen to them. As they crowd into 
the bay during their annual migration, large 
shoals keep together, and in close phalanx 
press swiftly along near the surface. In 
doing so they cause a sound similar to the 
breaking of the surf on a lee shore. 

The herring season commenced while I 
was there ; and it was certainly a droll si^ht 
to see the cargoes of human beings that set 
out to assist the fishermen. Every boat 
contained a family ; and Irish families are 
not small. Such shouts and such laughter 
took place as the nets were hauled on board 
these crazy vessels at starting ! The native 
language, mingled with the harsh screams of 
the sea-birds, caused a chaos of noise, 
scarcely to be credited. Each boat had a 
peat fire in it, made upon a foundation of a 
few stones ; and as the time passed on, boats 
might be seen pulling out from among the 
different islands, all making for one point 
(the fishing ground, a particular part of the 
bay), till at last a miniature fleet was formed, 
and they at once prepared for the night's 

I did intend to mention the various 
methods of taking fish in Clew Bay, but I 
am well aware that our " Own Journal" 
must not be unduly encroached upon. Suf- 
fice it to say, that during my stay I was pre- 
sent at the capture of some codfish (young), 
maiden ray, coal-fish, mullet, and gurnard. 
All about the rocky shore, and sandy bays, 
whole hosts of crabs, cockles, shrimps, 
prawns, rasor-fish, mussels, &c, were to be 
found ; and one day I was offered a splendid 
John Dory for a mere trifle. 

Allow me, Mr. Editor, before I conclude 
this little sketch of my ramble to the " land 
of the west," to inform you that in the 
several " Notes of a Sportsman and Natura- 
list," I may hereafter trouble you with, you 
must never expect elegance of composition 
from one whose hand is more accustomed to 
grasp his " trusty double" than his " ever- 
lasting gold pen." 

John Matthew Jones, M.Z.S. 
Montgomery, North Wales, 
Feb. 10, 1853. 





Cold blows the wind over moor, hill, and moun- 
tain ; 
Wildly the tempest sweeps over the plain ; 
Icicles hang from the edge of the fountain, 
And dark cheerless clouds hover over the main. 
We shall welcome the Spring, 
When the Winter is gone ; 
And the Summer will bring, 
Her rich treasures anon. 

But heralds of joy are already appearing, 
And decking the wood-side with many a gem ; 
Half hiding themselves 'neath the leaves, as if 

To brave the cold storm on their delicate stem ! 
Beautiful flowers ! 

Oh rest ye awhile ; 
Let Winter's dull hours, 
Be cheer'd by your smile ! 

A Faint ray of sunshine is now and then cast 
On the bed where the snowdrop and crocuses lie ; 
The gay laurestinus defies the cold blast, 
And cheerfully bends as the breeze passes by ; 
The Robin is singing. 

His fond tale of love ; 
And flow'rets are springing, 
Wherever we rove. 

The Spring furze now blooms with its bright yel- 
low flowers, 
The ivy-leaved speed-well and dark aconite ; 
The simple wood - strawberry braves the cold 

And vi'lets and primroses gleam with delight. 
Oh, haste thee, fair Spring ! 

The sad hours beguile, 
With the fair joys you bring, 
And thy bright bonny smile ! 

Thus Nature, kind Nature, e'er smiles through her 

tears ; 
Though winter's hard laws may be rigid and stern, 
She cheerfully tells us (to banish our fears)— 
That Spring with its treasures again will return. 
The gardens and hedges, 

She sprinkles with flowers — 
All dear little pledges 
Of happier hours ! 



cheapness, that we have coupled them 
together. They are inseparable. Let any one 
" chew the cud " of this remark, and its truth 
will be confirmed. We have, all of us, some 
acquaintances who delight in the " cheap." 
Let us confess, that they also partake largely 
of meanness. Say what we will, it is so. 
Now, we love liberality. A man may show 
a liberal heart in the disposition of frac- 
tional parts of a shilling. 

We have heard certain people boasting of 
late, that they have not given away anything 

either at Christmas, or at the beginning of 
the new year. They chuckle at the idea, and 
glory in talking about what they have saved ! 
Mean wretches ! Such people shall be no 
associates of ours. This, by the way. 

No one will attempt to deny that we are 
now living in an age, when " cheapness " is 
the order of the day. Every shop window 
has goods ticketed in the window ; and most 
of the proprietors avow, in black and white, 
that their property " is being sacrificed at 
some 20 per cent, below cost prices." Do 
people believe this? Most assuredly they 

We mentioned in our last, the grave calcu- 
lation that nine-tenths of our whole popula- 
tion were " fools ;" and that the tenth part 
was the " wise " one which preyed upon the 
nine. This is really the fact. Hence is it, 
that we see so many large firms " selling off" 
at awful sacrifices — all the goods " obliged " 
to be cleared off in a given time. These 
" awful sacrifices," invariably bring the 
owners of the goods 20 per cent, more than 
the usual prices. They mark an article 10s. 
and write underneath it, "worth 40s." Let 
us for one moment imagine, how many of the 
" nine- tenths of the population " pass these 
windows in a day ; and then let us imagine 
their delight at seeing goods worth 40s. 
offered for 10s. Their eye is caught, their 
heart is captured. The goods now selling at 
such " an awful sacrifice " must be cleared 
immediately — and to-morrow, perhaps, it will 
be too late to secure a bargain. The victim 
enters, smiling ; is leisurely robbed within ; 
and comes out delighted wdth her great bar- 
gains. On taking them home, she is told 
by "a kind friend," that every bargain is a 
swindle ; and that she has paid at least 
four times more than the value of the 
goods she has purchased. This is a matter 
of hourly occurrence. Indeed, we are sorry 
to say that nearly all our great houses 
carry on this fraud systematically. The 
proprietors cannot help it ; it is forced up- 
on them by the extreme meanness exhibi- 
ted by lady purchasers, who enter their 
shops determined to cheat them — if they 
can. It is therefore coute qui coute* 

* Our readers will readily remember a large 
establishment, not one hundred miles removed 
from the Regent Circus, who were thus selling off, 
some little time since, " at appalling sacrifices." 
The hook (beautifully baited we confess) caught 
such a multitude of (flat) fish, that not only was 
the really extensive stock sold off at excessive 
profits, but every night (by a side entrance) loads 
innumerable of fresh goods (purchased to con- 
tinue the farce and fill the coffers) were secretly 
poured in. Day after day, " the alarming sacri- 
fices " (400 per cent, profit at least) went on ; and 
day after day, increased hundreds of " bargain 
hunters " were fleeced to their hearts' content. 
This fact is notorious. 



But linen-drapers are not by any means 
the only folk who are obliged to practice this 
double-dealing. It is pursued by all trades, 
who, to get a livelihood are, they say, con- 
strained to do what is really revolting to their 
consciences — and we believe it. It is vain 
for an honest man to tell his customer, that 
if he wants a good article he must pay a 
little more for it. " Oh !" replies the cus- 
tomer, " if you won't let me have it at that 
price, Mr. So-and-so will." This system 
compels a tradesman either to be dishonest, 
to shut up shop, or submit to inevitable 

Things are now produced far too cheap. 
They leave no profit to the vendor. Hence, 
the endless bankruptcies. Every trade is 
alike. Competition in all, is boundless. 
The Publishers issue a book to-day, at one 
shilling. They sell it to the trade at nine- 
pence ; in some cases at 8d. To-morrow 
it is visible on all the book-stalls in London, 
marked 9Jd. We know a very worthy man, 
who graduated in a leading house of Pater- 
noster Row. He has become a book-mer- 
chant. He brings out these cheap books in 
shoals. What does he get by them ? Not 
2 per cent, for the investment of his money ! 
He rarely knows what sleep is. He is for 
ever on his feet ; and his life is ten times 
worse than that of a galley slave. The com- 
monest porter in London, is an infinitely hap- 
pier man than he ; and thrice as independent. 
The public, however, are spoiled. Trades- 
men will not unite for their own protection ; 
and thus ruin spreads far and wide. 

We might pursue this subject till we filled 
some half-dozen sheets ; nor would our obser- 
vations be unprofitable. But as our object is 
merely to open people's eyes, and show them 
their folly, we trust they will brighten up, and 
take a friendly hint. When they pass a 
jeweller's shop, and see cards in red ink, 
announcing " great reductions from marked 
prices,"— this is a " do." When they see 
articles ticketed as being sold at less than 
cost price, — this is a " do." When they see 
" fine crusted port," " selling at two shillings 
and sixpence, or three shillings a bottle," this 
is a " do." The same with any ostentatious 
display of " cheap " announcements, or de- 
filements of a window with placards. All 
such are swindles ;* no respectable dealer would 
for an instant have recourse to such degrad- 

* No person should ever deal at a " ticketed " 
shop. They are noted for dishonesty. You will, 
for instance, see a lady's dress marked in large 
letters — " one shilling." Go in to purchase it ; 
and you will find beneath it, in minutely small 
pencil marks, llfcl ! If a female does not pay this, 
and perhaps purchase two dresses instead of one, 
the chances are in favor of her being roughly 
handled, and charged with thieving ! There is a 
notorious place of this kind in Oxford Street. 

ing manoeuvres to obtain business. This may 
be taken as an invariable rule. 

We have not offered these remarks with a 
view of injuring anybody. Far from it. 
We want to establish a better order of 
things. The public themselves are to blame. 
They are horribly mean ; and expect as good 
an article now-a-days, for one shilling, or 
one shilling and sixpence, as formerly cost 
five or six shillings. Indeed, they are in- 
solently abusive to a tradesman if it be 
not so. 

Imagine " cheap " pianofortes at twenty- 
five guineas each, new ! — the market price 
now-a-days ! Rubbish are they, rubbish 
must they be ; as any honest dealer will tell 
the purchaser. But people will have twenty- 
five-guinea piano-fortes ; and so they are 
" got up " of green wood for green people ! 
Then, " cheap furniture," sold at marts, and 
other illegitimate places of business — who, 
with a grain of common sense, would ever 
buy their furniture at such places? The 
style, workmanship, and wood, are such 
that the articles have no real value. They 
would be " dear," at any price. They are 
put together for sale, and are never better than 
what are called " Jews' make" — that is, goods 
made to sell. We are perfectly shocked 
to observe the many petty meannesses prac- 
tised in this way, by people in good circum- 
stances. They have a right to deal where 
they like — with whom they please ; but do 
not let them insult the honest tradesman by 
expecting him to furnish good articles at the 
price charged by the rogue. 

The word " cheap " is a misnomer alto- 
gether. A so-called " cheap dinner," is not 
a cheap dinner — a so-called cheap hotel, is 
not a cheap hotel. To make use of a vulgar 
expression — pardonable perhaps under 
present circumstances — the " cheap and 
nasty " are inseparable in such cases. No- 
thing very cheap can be very good. The 
markets are open to all alike. If cloth costs 
20s. a yard, and " the best cloth coat " is 
promised by a tailor to be supplied for 34s. 
(see the Minories, and other clothes' mart 
establishments passim), we know the thing 
to be impossible. " Cheap tailors" deluge the 
town with the most barbarous patterns, cuts, 
and fashions. " Here comes ' Moses' ! " said 
a droll friend of ours one day, as a tall, lanky 
youth fluttered towards us in a new summer 
suit. The remark " told " well. The man 
and his outfitter stood before us.* We roared 
in his face. We see, daily, hundreds of these 
poor, ill-clad dupes, who " do the thing 
cheap " — and " nasty." They stud the streets 
at every corner. 

* Sometimes (just about Easter), we see a 
hybrid youth — a kind of " cross " between a 
Moses and a Hyam. His colors are well dis- 
played, and himself a national curiosity. 



Our fair countrywomen have very much 
to answer for in the encouragement they give 
to cheap articles. They are little aware of 
the great moral evil they are inflicting -on 
society; or if they be (they must forgive us), 
more shame for them ! They are habitually 
close, and daily become closer in their 
habits of bargaining. They want a 
stylish-looking cap, a stylish-looking dress, 
stylish ribbons — everything " stylish," for a 
mere song. And if reproved, they arch up 
their pretty eyebrows, look angry, let fall 
some little undeserved pertnesses, and 
transfer their " favors '' to some other es- 
tablishment ! Nobody will attempt to deny 
this palpable matter of tact. 

What of the poor, over-worked, over- 
tasked, heart-stricken, pale-faced girls — who 
forsake their pillows to make these cheap 
stylish caps, dresses, &c, &c ? Alas I what 
cares the fair purchaser about such con- 
siderations as these? She is " not taught " 
to think about such things. The poor are 
" all very well in their places " (sitting up 
all night to complete wedding dresses, and 
other such needful appliances to set off 
female loveliness); "but really it is ridi- 
culous to be always preaching about such 
silly nonsense !" 

"We need reform in these matters ; and 
then we should soon get rid of the swind- 
ling vagabonds who from time to time com- 
mit such alarming depredations on the poc- 
kets of unsuspecting husbands. We should 
not then be subject to such fearful inunda- 
tions of " Grand displays of shawls, silks, 
and satins," sold off at fearful sacrifices in 
consequence of large failures in the trade. 
Nor should we see public robbers affixing to 
their circulars of these displays, the on-au- 
thorised names of the Duchess of Suther- 
land, the Duchess of Inverness, &c, &c. In 
vain does that laudable " Society for the pro- 
tection of Trade," in Regent Street, with 
their very able secretary Me. Owen, try to 
up-root these travelling vagabonds. The 
ladies will support them, — will go (like oxen 
to the slaughter), to be victimised ; and per- 
sist in purchasing as bargains, what they 
must know are next to valueless.* The 
" husbands' purse," is of course the scape- 
goat. If we be asked, what is it that so 
seduces the female eye in these announce- 
ments ? — we should give it as our opinion 
that it is the thirst for "bargain-hunting." The 

* Yet are these very same persons ridiculously 
extravagant in other ways. They will not 
fancy some particular things, unless their cost is 
exorbitant ; and will lavish pounds on the most 
silly follies where even shillings would be super- 
fluous. These extremes are commonly found 
among the higher circles ; and the various trades- 
men do not fail to avail themselves of such " little 

Circulars generally commence with, — " 800 
rich glossy black silks, cut into full-sized 
dresses, at 18s. each. Worth at least 
five guineas." 

And so on. Now, no daughter of Eve, pre- 
tending to move in the fashion, could see 
such an annonce as this, without looking at it. 
The eye once caught, — farewell to resolu- 
tion ! Our fair readers will dub us " Sir 

We think we have pretty well made out 
our case, as regards the folly of buying 
" cheap" goods, — that is, goods called cheap ; 
but which are in reality dear. If people 
would deal with respectable tradesmen only, 
— and many such there are, they would be 
served well and reasonable. What more 
can , be desired? But if people will buy 
eighteen-penny gloves, half-a-crown-umbrel- 
las, two-shilling neckerchiefs, twelve shilling 
over-coats ; and be rigged out by cheap 
tailors and out-fitters, — if they will buy 
cheap chairs (and fall through them) ; cheap 
piano-fortes (and hear the green wood crack 
when the room becomes warm) ; furniture for 
their rooms that " looks well to the eye," 
but soon falls to pieces, — we say, let them 
do so, by all means ; provided they do not 
call honest tradesmen " dear" for selling 
good articles at a fair price. 

In another part of our paper will be found 
a little tale, which we have introduced to 
illustrate the object of this article. It is 
called " The Dress-Cap." A deep moral is 
locked up in it, which a feeling heart will 
readily comprehend. Thank God, our read- 
ers are of a different class to the many. 
Yet they may have acquaintances on whom 
such remarks may not be ill-bestowed. 



It was a wet, misty morning, early in 
August, that, accompanied by a friend, 1 left 
the comforts of the Nag's Head, at Wyth- 
burn ; and passing the modest little chapel, 
whose congregation seldom exceeds, even in 
summer, the number of twenty, I commenced 
for my third time, the ascent of the mighty 
Helvellyn. Mist and rain are such every- 
day commodities in Cumberland, that little 
heed was taken of the thick cloud which 
enveloped the tops of the numerous moun- 
tains with which we were encircled. We 
trusted, as only naturalists can do, to the 
clearing up which might take place before 

The ascent is begun, and continued about 
half-way, by a mountain stream, provincially 
termed a Ghyll— exhibiting in its progress 
hundreds of little cascades, and not a few 
deep basins, where the water, resting as it 



were from its wild descent, assumes a pel- 
lucid clearness, sufficient to tempt the tourist 
to pause for a while in admiring rapture. 
The sides of the stream were composed of 
soft bog, formed by loose growing moss and 
marsh plants ; the montia fontana, known in 
less classic language as the Blinks, being by- 
no means scarce. Huge pieces of rock, of 
porphyritic green stone, were covered by 
rose root, saxifrages, and lycopodiums, while 
their interstices bore abundant fronds of 
feathery fern, and the lovely alpine Lady's 

Animal life was scarce. Very few birds 
cared to waste their sweetness on the desert 
air, at the hour of eight in the morning; 
and butterflies prefer the sunshine to the 
damp fog of the hills. Shells were out of the 
question, for primary rocks yield too small a 
supply of lime to tempt the moliusca to 
build on them. In short, plants only were 
to be found ; and to them I purpose to devote 
this page of my note -book. 

We had already climbed about 1,500 feet 
of the mountain, despite the rapidly in- 
creasing mist, when the stream parts into 
two forks or feeders ; and taking that to the 
left, passed over a gentle incline for about a 
mile to the top. No one who has never 
ventured on a fell side, amid mist and rain, 
can have the smallest conception of the 
magical feats performed by these fleecy 
clouds, so different in character from their 
cousins — the fogs of London. The interven- 
tion of a thin cloud of mist, between the ob- 
server and object looked at, annihilates dis- 
tance ; adds a thousand feet to the elevation 
of the opposite hills ; and cuts off at least 
five sixths of its distance from us. Sheep 
grazing on the mountain top, become sud- 
denly transformed into gigantic oxen ; and 
as suddenly resume their own diminutive 
forms. Passing through all these interesting 
sights, and many more of a like nature, 
imagine us on the summit of old Helvellyn, 
some 3,055 feet above the sea, with a. mag- 
nificent view of a wide expanse of — mist. 
Seating ourselves on the pile of sharp stones, 
known as the Alan, we anxiously awaited the 
genial influence of the sun's rays, hoping 
they would soon dispel the mist which en- 
shrouded the entire landscape. Behind 
us was the gradual slope, by which we 
had gained our present position ; and be- 
fore, at a distance of only a few feet, what 
seemed to be a dreadful precipice, with a 
wide sea of vapor at its bottom ; and there 
we knew must be looked for — the famous Red 
Tarn, rendered romantic by the death of the 
unfortunate tourist, Gough ; and more than 
classical, by the lines of Wordsworth and 
Scott. Not a vestige of the little mountain 
lake could be seen ; indeed, we concluded 
that we had lost the object of our visit, 

and all but feared that we had missed our 

There is something truly grand in the 
uncertainty felt by the stranger, who, having 
toiled his way to a lofty eminence, feels a 
doubt in his mind as to whether he has 
actually left the land of dreams, for the more 
than dreamland of an alpine wilderness ; and 
is rather strengthened in his suspicions than 
otherwise, by a sudden gleam of sunshine 
revealing, for a second or two, a sunlit rock, 
or a golden lake — again to be swallowed up 
in the lap of mystery ! Having satisfied our- 
selves with these rich peeps, 

"Like angel visits, few and far between," 

we began to descend by the . rugged and 
dangerous path toward the ridge known as 
Swirrel Edge. Our object being to examine 
the rich botanical treasures of the rocks, 
over which we had looked from the summit, 
and which stretch between Swirrel Edge and 
Stridding Edge, we continued about half 
way above the tarn, into which a single false 
step would have precipitated us from a 
height of nearly one hundred feet. Plants 
we got in abundance ; and of such rarity, that 
spite of a cold and soaking rain, we gave 
vent to our joy — now in faint murmurs of 
delight, and again in loud huzzas. One of 
these latter demonstrations was answered by 
something louder than an echo, followed by 
a long " hallo-o-o-o !" It was evident that we 
were not the only tourists who had ventured 
on the wilds of Helvellyn, on that most un- 
likely of all clays in the season. By repeated 
noisy calls, we got the others to understand 
our inquiry as to the route they were pur- 
suing ; and learned, rather to our chagrin, 
that they were passing from Grassmere to 
Patterdale over Stridding Edge, and there- 
fore we would not enjoy the poor solace of 
meeting them. 

The rain continued, but the mist gave 
way ; and first the lonely Red Tarn became 
distinctly visible, bounded on the left by 
Swirrel Edge, a long thin ridge of moun- 
tains, terminated by a curious conical hill, 
the renowned Catchedecam ; and on the 
right by the sharp rugged Stridding Edge. 
Then the scene widened, and the bottom 
reach of Ullswater was given to view with 
Dumellet, Soulby Fell, and a number of 
other hills, all familiar to us. So clear did 
the atmosphere become towards the bottom 
of the lake, that the houses on Pooley Bridge, 
and the two-arched bridge from which its 
name is derived, were as sharply defined as 
if our distance from them had been but as 
many yards as it was miles. 

Passing over huge square blocks of green- 
stone, we reached Stridding Edge, at its junc- 
tion with the parent mountain : we then as- 
cended one of the wildest pieces of rock I 
ever set foot upon. My energies had been 

chilled by the continued rain, our provisions 
were exhausted, and my courage began to fail 
at the very time it was to be most severely 
taxed ; for on looking down over the pre- 
cipitous rock I was ascending, I saw the 
heap of stones piled on the very spot where 
the bleached body of poor Gough was found, 
protected by his faithful dog ! By dint of my 
intrepid companion's encouragement and ex- 
ample, I at length gathered strength, gained 
the summit, and then travelled down to the 
inn, after fourteen hours on a high mountain, 
among steep rude rocks, wet under foot, and 
drenched with rain from above. 

A long list of plants, especially if given 
with their Latin names, might be looked 
upon as but ill suited for the pages of KichVs 
Journal ; and I am one of those unfortunate 
individuals who prefer the scientific to the 
local, or as they are termed, English names. 
Every one has seen the willow tree, some of 
them rising to a height rivalling even the 
stately oak.and others, as the cinnamon saugh, 
not many feet in size; but I dare say not five 
in a hundred of my readers could imagine 
the existence of willows so small that a lady 
might have two or three hundred of them 
done up in a moderate -sized hand bouquet, 
without being inconvenienced by their 
weight. Such a willow is found on the tops 
of all the high mountains in Scotland ; and 
on three or four in England ; but, just as if 
to try the reader's patience, has no English 
name ; so that I am forced to call it by it3 
expressive botanical cognomen, Salix Her- 
hacea. This plant grows on the rocks of 
Helvellyn but sparingly ; though on the loose 
clay slate of Skiddau, it occurs in great 
abundance. The sea pink is familiar to every 
sea-side visitor, but is not met with again 
till we reach the mountain top, where its 
pretty pink flowers remind us of the majestic 
swell of the ocean, and the salt spray ; both 
which have delighted us as we paced the soft 
sand in search of shells and starfishes. 

Really, I shall say no more about plants. 
I will erase all those frightful Latin terms 
from my page, fearful of destroying the 
symmetry of some delicate reader's mouth ; 
and end with a more congenial subject, the 
description of Red Tarn by Wordsworth. 

"It was a cove, a huge recess, 

That keeps till June, December's snow ; 

A lofty precipice in front, 

A silent tarn below ! 

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 

Remote from public road or dwelling, 

Pathway or cultivated land, 

From trace of human foot or hand. 

There sometimes doth the leaping fish 
Send down the Tarn a lonely cheer ; 
The crags repeat the raven's croak 
In symphony austere. 

Thither the rainbow comes — the cloud — 
And mists that spread the flying shroud ; 
And sunbeams, and the sounding blast, 
That if it could, would hurry past, 
But that enormous barrier binds it fast." 



How true is it, that " Ignorance" is often 
"bliss!" If a man, with a feeling heart, 
were to see and know one millionth part of 
what is going on every twelve hours in the 
Great Metropolis, he would " weep tears of 

It is, however, unwise to be apathetically 
indifferent to what little does come under 
our eye ; and it behoves us to lend a help- 
ing hand when it is in our power to do so, 
to the unhappy. 

A report has recently been made to the 
Secretary of State for the Home Department, 
by Captain Hay, one of the Commissioners 
of Metropolitan Police, on the operation 
of the Common Lodging-Houses-Act, pur- 
suant to an address of the House of Lords 
dated the 10th Dec. By the daylight which 
the Common Lodging-House-Act has at 
length thrown into these regions, we learn 
that about half the dwellings liable to the 
operation of the Act have been examined 
and registered, and they amount already to 
three thousand three hundred, inhabited by 
about fifty thousand persons, of about fifteen 
to a house. That moderate proportion, how- 
everts very much exceeded in a great number 
of these nouses — invariably indeed in the 
worst localities. 

The majority of the houses, it should be 
explained, are small— eight-roomed may 
be — with hardly any space behind, and as 
destitute of accommodation as the combined 
poverty and covetousness of builder, owner, 
and tenant, can make them. TVe must 
assume, then, simply eight rooms, and nothing 
more ; the floors rotted, the windows, hap- 
pily, we should think, often broken, the 
doors gone altogether, the stairs decayed 
with wear and filth, the ceilings fallen, the 
drains long choked — if ever permeable ; and 
everything that could render a house as little 
of a house, except in its closeness, as could 
be imagined. 

In these abodes, the inspectors employed 
under the Act have frequently found seventy 
or eighty in one small eight-roomed house, 
thirty in a room 14 by 1-4, and so on — families, 
or rather human clusters, being content with 
a corner of a room, or less. Such houses 
are rented by tenants; then let to sub-tenants. 
By them again to weekly or nightly occu- 
pants, in many gradations ; each step de- 
riving a profit from that below, till the total 
rent paid by the actual occupants of a filthy 
hovel in Church dane will equal the rent 



of a spacious and handsome mansion in a 
respectable square. 

All sorts of dreadful scenes are brought 
to light, by the visits of the police- ser- 
geants employed in the work of inspection ; 
people dying, or dead of small-pox, or fever, 
or starvation, in small rooms and in close 
contact with crowds of poor wretches seem- 
ingly waiting their turn to be stretched on 
the bed or bier by their side. At night, 
these poor creatures simply denude them- 
selves of the rags they wore in the day; 
and instead of walking in them, lie under 
them as decently as may be. The stench 
that rises from these foul lairs is so intoler- 
able, as seriously to affect the health of the 
strong police-sergeants engaged to inspect. 
Hitherto, for these evils there has been no 
remedy ; but the new Act imposes some 
little check on the rapacity of the wretches 
who thus trade in human lives with even 
less humanity than they would show in the 
nightly housing of cattle or pigs. 

The work, however, is in no respect easy. 
The inspecting sergeants have to walk more 
than eight-hundred miles every week in 
discharge of their duty ; and since the pass- 
ing of the Act, have paid nearly fifty thousand 
visits. They have to encounter deadly 
effluvium, contagious diseases, violent tem- 
pers, the shifty tricks of mercenary lodging- 
house keepers, and the shiftless habits of 
the poor. ' But they are often the means of 
doing the greatest good. Sometimes they 
report to the Board of Health, or to the 
local authorities, whole blocks of buildings 
destitute of proper drainage and the con- 
tinual nurseries of disease. Sometimes they 
separate fever cases, just in time to save 
crowded neighborhoods. 

Various instances are given in the Report, 
showing the great labor imposed by the 
Act, the many visits often required for the 
removal of one nuisance or the correction 
of one offence, and the very great benefits 
that have frequently resulted. 

It is well for us, that we only read instead 
of see what is going on nightly in this 
great city. The scenes of depravity and 
human wretchedness that present them- 
selves, would sicken by the recital. 

The "moral" we would deduce from this — 
and we like to " point a moral" in all that 
flows from our pen — is, the great obligation 
that rests on us to be thankful for the ex- 
traordinary comforts we enjoy by compari- 
son with others. Those who are wealthy, 
know not what penury means — cannot " feel" 
for people pinched by want. Yet can they 
credit what they hear ; and by timely aid 
largely benefit, without injury to themselves, 
those noble institutions which are ready and 
willing to perform what none but themselves 
could efficiently carry out. 

The world is full of misery. We cannot 
remove it ; but we may alleviate a part of 
it. The peace of mind resulting from even 
the smallest share in the good work, is great 
indeed ! Let us try it. We can all do 
" something." 




Time was, when the mere pronunciation 
of the words, Van Diemen's Land, carried 
with it an awe to the hearer. The person 
who uttered them, too, seemed half afraid of 
what he had done. Transportation, villains, 
bandits, assassins, and all that was truly 
horrible, were associated with the name of 
the country. The times have changed. We 
have changed with them. England's sons 
and daughters are flying all over the earth ; 
some for gold, others for a change — all for 
imagined happiness. 

Under the title of " My Home in Tasmania, 
during a Residence of Nine Years," Mrs. 
Charles Meredith has recently published a 
very readable book. Everybody should 
peruse it, if only for the sake of information 
as to what the country we are speaking of 
really is. It will not do, now-a-days, to 
entertain old prejudices. We must go ahead, 
and see things as they are. 

Allowing that some of Mrs. Meredith's 
sketches are couleur de rose, there is ample 
evidence in her book that she has an eye for 
the picturesque and the sublime ; also a heart 
to enjoy what she sees. This at once places 
her on our list of " pets." Hear what she 
says about Cape Pillar, while sailing along 
the coast : — 

I have heard much of the grandeur of the 
" North Cape " at midnight ; but I would not 
lose my memory of Cape Pillar, at sunset, for all 
the icy glitter of that more renowned scene. 

We love this independent manner of 
writing, vastly ; it is so purely natural. Now, 
let us give Mrs. Meredith's graphic descrip- 
tion of her afternoon sail : — 

It was a most beautiful afternoon, sunny and 
pleasant,with a fair breeze ; and as we sailed along 
the picturesque coast of Tasmania, the deep bays, 
rocky headlands, and swelling hills, formed a 
charming panorama, which I roughly and hastily 
sketched as we glided past. The white-cliffed 
Hippolyte Rocks, commonly called by colonial 
seamen the 'Epaulettes,' rising squarely, like 
masses of neat masonry above the sea, had exactly 
the appearance of a fort ; and I almost expected to 
discern a flag floating over them, or to be startled 
by the flash and boom of a cannon from the snow- 
white walls ; but a flight of sea-birds rising from 
the summit, was the only token of living residents 
that the formidable rocks displayed. 

The southern promontory of Fortesque Bay ap- 

peared to be entirely composed of upright basaltic 
columns ; some of them standing alone, like tall 
obelisks ; but the greater number forming groups 
of mimic towers and chimneys. The coast rises 
considerably towards the south, where the moun- 
tain range terminates abruptly in the Cape Pillar 
— a grand basaltic precipice, or rather an assem- 
blage of precipices, which, seen from the sea, 
every moment assume some new and more pictu- 
resque aspect. Separated from the mainland only 
by a strait of half a mile in width, is Tasman's 
Island, a scarcely less striking feature in this most 
grand scenery than the Cape Pillar. Like it, the 
island is composed of basaltic columns, though on 
a less stupendous scale, but exceedingly fantastic 
in form, particularly on the southern side, where 
the taper spires and pinnacles seem a part of some 
ancient Gothic edifice, some ' Lindisfarne ' or 
1 Tintern ' of bygone glory ; whilst, as we gained 
a broader view of the cape, it assumed the ap- 
pearance of a fortification — a wall and seaward 
tower at the north-east end being singularly well 

When parallel with the strait, we gained 
through it a fine view of another high basaltic 
promontory, Cape Kaoul, the entrance to Port 
Arthur being between the two ; but this was soon 
lost, and the island seemed to fold in, as it were, 
with the westerly cliffs of the cape, until in a south 
view they formed one towering stupendous mass 
of dark rocks, most richly tinged with the change- 
ful rose-coloi", and purple, and gold of the sunset's 
glorious hues, which shone forth in still greater 
lustre from contrast with the deep chasms and 
ravines which were in almost black shadow, and 
with the white crested billows of the blue sea, that 
dashed their glittering spray high over the broken 
crags. It was a scene never to be forgotten ! 

Nor are our little favorites, the birds, over- 
looked. They are described, too, in an artless, 
captivating style, that wins our fondest affec- 
tion for the writer. We hardly know which 
to admire most — the birds of Tasmania, or 
their Poet Laureate. Hear how she sings : — 

In the trees and bushes near the creek, I 
frequently made new acquaintances of the bird 
kind ; but only know a few of them by name. 
Among these, was that tiny flitting fairy called 
the Diamond bird. It truly is a dainty little 
jewel ; all gold and shaded amber, with silver 
spots. Not less beautiful, and far more common, 
was my old darling the robin ; as exquisite a beau 
as ever, with his back of blackest black, and his 
breast a living flame of scarlet. A warm, brave 
little heart there beats within it too, or his 
sparkling eye tells no true story ! With him 
came another of Nature's marvels of beauty and 
brightness, dressed also partly in black, black 
bird-velvet, off the same piece as robin's coat, but 
with a cap and mantle of blue — such blue ! The 
deepest summer sky is mere dull grey to it! This 
wondrous little bird is called the ' superb warbler ' 
(Mulurus superbus), and superb in truth he is. 
So bright, so swift, so merry, so musical as these 
little beings are, sure nothing else ever was ! The 
bluecap has a domestic contrast, too, in his 
quiet-colored little wife, who, like her Old- World 
namesake, Jenny Wren, — 

" ' Will still put on her brown gown, 
And never go too fine.' " 
But though not dressed in as gay hues., she is as 
merry and sprightly as her mate ; a perfect little 
' dot ' of a bird, quite round, like a ball set on 
two fine black pins, with a sweet little head at 
one side, and at the other, or more truly on the 
top, the drollest little long, straight, upright tail 
that ever was seen. The robin, and Mr. Bluecap, 
and Jenny, are all much alike in shape, and the 
way in which their indescribably funny little tails 
are cocked up over their backs, sometimes almost 
touching their heads, as they hop and pop about 
up and down, and in and out, cannot be imagined 
— it must be seen. 

Had Mrs. Meredith known our choice 
favorites, she could not have selected them 
more apropos. With the exception of the 
Diamond bird, and the superb warbler, — 
with whose marvellous endowments and rare 
beauty we were till now unacquainted, the 
whole of the birds she has named are truly 
dear to us. She loves the robin too. We 
love her, — for his sake. 

The inhabitants of that happy land rejoice, 
it seems, as much as we do, in going a gip- 
sying. Let us see wdiat are the delicacies 
prepared for " the spread" under the trees, 
— or rather, what is " the" grand delicacy. 
Mrs. Meredith says : — 

Of course I was initiated into the art of bush 
cookery. There is a great mystery attached to 
it ; and for the benefit of the many who go a- 
gipsying, I will expound it. — The orthodox 
mystery is, of course, kangaroo ; a piece of which 
is divided nicely into cutlets two or three inches 
broad, and a third of an inch thick. The next 
requisite is a straight clean stick, about four feet 
long, sharpened at both ends. On the narrow 
part of this, for the space of a foot or more, the 
cutlets are spitted at intervals, and on the end is 
placed a piece of delicately rosy fat bacon. The 
strong end of the stick-spit is now stuck fast and 
erect in the ground, close to the fire, to lee- 
ward, care being taken that it does not burn. 
Then the bacon on the summit of the spit speedily 
softening in the genial blaze, drops a lubricating 
shower of rich and savory tears on the leaner kan - 
garoo cutlets below ; which forthwith frizzle and 
steam and splutter with as much ado as if they 
were illustrious Christmas beef grilling in some 
London chop-house under the gratified nose of 
the expectant consumer. 'And gentlemen,' as 
dear old Hardcastle would have said, if he had 
dined with us in the bush, ' to men that are 
hungry, stuck-up kangaroo and bacon are very 
good eating.' Kangaroo is, in fact, very like hare. 

W T e must, on no account, omit Mrs. Mere- 
dith's description of her own dwelling ; and 
the duties that devolved upon her as house- 
keeper. She tells us, that the first thing 
necessary to be done before establishing a 
" home," is to clear the ground. After this, 
she says : — 

Oxen and implements were purchased, and men 
hired to fell the trees, grub up the roots, and cut 
the ponderous trunks and branches into lengths 



to form a ' dead-wood fence ;' that is, a mass of 
timber four or five feet thick, and five or six high, 
the lower part being formed of the enormous 
trunks of trees, cut into lengths six or eight feet 
long, laid side by side, and the upper portion con- 
sisting of the smaller branches skilfully laid over, 
or stuck down and inter-twisted. The first field 
being cleared, fenced, ploughed, and sown, other 
land underwent the same transformation. I often 
vainly interceded for the life of some noble tree, 
which, as its tall kindred fall all around it, looked 
so grand and ornamental, and so pleasing an 
object in the general clearance, that I would 
gladly have preserved it ; but the harbour which 
trees in the middle of fields afford to the opossums 
and the destructive, but most beautiful, little 
parrots which abound here, was always urged 
against me, and the death-doom was rarely 
averted, even by the most eloquent pleading : 
still both our lovely rivers being skirted by forest 
land and fine belts of trees, besides the numbers 
which adorned the unploughed marsh and sheep- 
run, amply redeemed our pretty spot from the 
charge of bareness, usually so well merited by 
colonial farms. 

Each time that I rode or walked up from 
Eiversdale, some evident improvement was visible, 
in clearing, fencing, draining, or building ; and 
as spring advanced, the sheep and cattle feeding 
in the deep, long, green grass of the marshes, and 
the pretty little soft white lambs skipping about, 
looked like a bit of England. How beautiful 
were our broad deep drains, with bright cold 
water bubbling up in them from countless springs, 
and flowing generously along in a never-failing 
stream ! And how often we used to stand in our 
green meadows, looking into them and talking of 
the dry and parched ground of our homes at Home- 
bush and Bathurst, as a kind of additional zest to 
our keen enjoyment of the inestimable blessings of 
a temperate climate and abundance of pure water! 

Sometimes in the summer we joined the pic- 
nic parties from Cambria ; and sometimes, after 
exhausting my small store of the simple airs and 
merry old tunes — my husband's favorites — that I 
could play from memory, I resolutely dived among 
my old music-books, loaded the piano-desk, and 
filled up an evening with somewhat lame revivals 
of the strains of other, although not happier days ; 
but all these were indulgences in my usual sewing, 
nursing, housekeeping life. At first I found the 
business of the store-room the most novel of my 
household duties, and the weekly or semi-weekly 
distribution of rations the least pleasant of them ; 
for besides our own hired farm-servants — who of 
course received their supplies from us — there were 
the sawyers, stonemasons, carpenters, drainers, 
and fencers, all of whom we had to supply with 
flour, meat, tea, sugar, salt, soap, tobacco, and 
' slops ' [i.e. shirts, trowsers, jackets, &c.) ; so that 
accurate accounts must be kept, and I confess I 
did not much admire this indispensable huck- 
ster's shop affair, the business of which also 
included the giving out the materials for the 
building and articles for farm use — such as nails 
of all kinds, ropes, files, glass, glue, oil, paint, 
whiting, turpentine, blankets, bed-tick, rugs, wine, 
and other commodities; but all this is (or rather 
was at the time in question) a matter of course in 
a settler's establishment. 

We will conclude our notice, by a " picture 
in little," of the ladies of Hobarton ; who, it 
appears, make " dancing" their god, — sing- 
ing and music being rather tolerated than en- 
couraged : — 

At the period of which I am writing, 
Hobarton was certainly not in advance of Sydney 
in point of society or intelligence, and the constant 
efforts of Sir John and Lady Franklin to arouse 
and foster a taste for science, literature, or art, 
were more often productive of annoyance to them- 
selves than of benefit to the unambitious multi- 
tude. Among the young ladies, both married 
and single, in Tasmania, as in Sydney, a very 
1 general oneness ' prevails as to the taste for 
dancing, from the love of which but a small share 
of regard can be spared for any other accom- 
plishment or study, save a little singing and 
music ; and Lady Franklin's attempts to intro- 
duce evening parties in the ' conversazione ' style 
were highly unpopular with the pretty Tasma- 
nians, who declared that they 'had no idea of 
being asked to an evening party, and then stuck 
up in rooms full of pictures and books, and shells 
and stones, and other rubbish, with nothing to do 
but to hear people talk lectures, or else sit as mute 
as mice, listening to what was called good music. 
Why could not Lady Franklin have the military 
band in, and the carpets out, and give dances, 
instead of such stupid preaching about philosophy 
and science, and a parcel of stuff that nobody 
could understand ? ' 

These Tasmanian ladies are, we fear, be- 
yond the reach of our journal ; else should 
we dearly like to have a few evenings' gossip 
with them. They have, we know, pretty 
faces ; and we see no valid reason why they 
should not have hearts and minds to match. 
Beauty without mind, is like a flower without 


The mouth is the frankest part of the face. It 
can the least conceal the feelings. We can neither 
hide ill-temper with it, nor good. We may affect 
what we please, but affectations will not help us. 
In a wrong cause, it will only make our observers 
resent the endeavor to impose upon them. 

A mouth should be of good natural dimensions, 
as well as plump in the lips. When the antients, 
among their beauties, made mention of small 
mouths and lips, they mean small only as opposed 
to an excess the other way, a fault very common 
in the south. The sayings in favor of small 
mouths, which have been the ruin of so many 
pretty looks, are very absurd. If there must be 
an excess either way, it had better be the liberal 
one. A pretty pursed-up mouth is fit for nothing 
but to be left to its complacency. Large mouths 
are oftener found in union with generous dispo- 
sitions than very small ones. 

Beauty should have neither ; but a reasonable 
look of openness and delicacy. It is an elegance 
in lips, when, instead of making sharp angles at 
the corner of the mouth, they retain a certain 
breadth to the very verge, and show the red. 
The corner then looks painted with a free and 
liberal pencil. — Leigh Hunt. 





'Tis morxixg ! Now the sun, with ruddy orb 
Ascending, fires th' horizon ; while the clouds, 
That crowd away before the driving wind, 
More ardent as the disk emerges more, 
Resemble most some city in a blaze, 
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting 

Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, 
And, tinging all with his own rosy hue, 
From every herb and every spiry blade 
Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 
Mine, spindling into longitude immense, 
In spite of gravity, and sage remark 
That I myself am but a fleeting shade, 
Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance 
I view the muscular proportion'd limb 
Transformed to a lean shank. The shapeless 

As they design'd to mock me, at my side 
Take step for step ; and, as I near approach 
The cottage, walk along the plaster'd wall — 
Preposterous sight ! the legs without the man. 
The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents, 
And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest, 
Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad, 
And, fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. 
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence 
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep 
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
Their wonted fodder ; not like hungering man, 
Fretful if unsupplied : but silent, meek, 
And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. 
He from the stack carves out the accustom'd load, 
Deep-plunging, and again deep-plunging oft, 
His broad keen knife into the solid mass : 
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, 
With such undeviating and even force 
He severs it away : no needless care, 
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile 
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. 
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd 
The cheerful haunts of man, to wield the axe, 
And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear, 
From morn to eve his solitary task. 
Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears, 
And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher, and half cur, 
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk 
Wide-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow 
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout : 
Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for 


Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl 
Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for 

But now and then with pressure of his thumb 
To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, 
That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud 
Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 
Now from the roost, or from the neighboring 

Where diligent to catch the first faint gleam 
Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side, 
Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call 

The feather'd tribes domestic. Half on wing, 

And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood, 

Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. 

The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves, 

To seize the fair occasion ; well they eye 

The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolved 

To escape the impending famine, often scared 

As oft return, a pert voracious kind. 

Clean riddance quickly made, one only care 

Remains to each, the search of sunny nook, 

Or shed impervious to the blast. Resign'd 

To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 

His wonted strut : and wading at their head 

With well-consider'd steps, seem to resent 

His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench'd. 

How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 

The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, 

Due sustenance ; or where subsist they now ? 

Earth yields them naught ; the imprison'd worm 

is safe 
Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs 
Lie cover'd close ; and berry-bearing thorns, 
That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose), 
Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 
The long protracted rigour of the year 
Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and 

Ten thousand seek an unmolested end, 
As instinct prompts ; self-buried ere they die. 
The very rooks and daws forsake the fields, 
Where neither grub, nor root, nor earth-nut, now 
Repays their labor more ; and perch'd aloft 
By the wayside, or stalking in the path, 
Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track, 
Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to 

Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. 
The streams are lost amid the splendid bank, 
O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood, 
Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight 
Lies undissolv'd ; while silently beneath, 
And unperceived, the current steals away. 
Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps 
The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel, 
And wantons in the pebbly gulf below : 
No frost can bind it there ; its utmost force 
Can but arrest the light and smoky mist, 
That in its fall the liquid sheet throws wide. 
And see where it has hung the embroider'd banks 
With forms so various, that no powers of art, 
The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene ! 
Here glittering turrets rise upbearing high 
(Fantastic mis-arrangement !) on the roof 
Large growth of what may seem the sparkling 

And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops, 
That trickle down the branches, fast congeal'd, 
Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, 
And prop the pile they but adorn'd before. 
Here grotto within grotto safe defies 
The sunbeam ; there, emboss'd and fretted wild, 
The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 
Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain 
The likeness of some object seen before. 
Thus Nature works as if to mock at Art, 
And in defiance of her rival powers ; 
By these fortuitous and random strokes 
Performing such inimitable feats 
As she with all her rules can never reach. 







We promised in our last, that our new sub- 
scribers (not a few), should soon see the extent of 
our anxiety for their welfare. We vowed to speak 
out, if they would listen. Our fair friends shall 
find us as good as our word. We live but to 
study their best interests, and this very page shall 
prove it. 

March has arrived, and with it all those dis- 
eases and maladies so peculiar to this month. He 
has greeted us, as Spencer says — 

With brows full 6ternly bent, 

And armed strangely. In his hand a spade, 
And in a bag all sorts of seeds ye same, 

Which on the earth he streweth as he goes. 

Now, maidens, is the time for you to show your 
good sense ; by arming yourselves against the in- 
vader. By the aid of suitable woollen clothing, 
keep your body comfortably warm ; don't contract 
your amiable persons into less than half the space 
required by nature (of which more anon), but let 
your internal machinery have free play. It will 
then never be out of order. Be " natural" first ; 
" symmetry" will be sure to follow. At this sea- 
son, the feet must be most particularly attended to. 
Cold feet and wet feet bring on a diseased stomach, 
and with it a host of ailments indescribable. Thin 
shoes must be regarded as heretical, and banished. 
Warm stockings too, — black silk, if practicable , are 
to be commended. Keep these on, all day ; and 
also good, strong, sensible shoes, or ancle boots. 
What can be neater, nicer, than a well-made 
trim-looking, lady's boot? Wear such, by all 
means. No satin shoes in the evening, if you 
please. No low dresses at night, or what is known 
as " full dress" (which means semi-nudity.) 
These cannot be cultivated with impunity. Of- 
fend against our rules, noiv, and we fear that next 
March you will not be here to listen to our admo- 
nitions. The body cannot bear, at this season, 
a repeated change of dresses in one day. Those 
who will follow Fashion's rules, must pay the 
penalty. Our readers are surely not of this order. 
Oh, no ! By the way, let us recommend a thin 
sole of cork, or felt, to be worn inside the boot or 
shoe. It is a bad conductor of heat, and there- 
fore highly desirable. 

Beware of chilblains ! These are often induced 
by the use of carpet shoes, or fur slippers. Away 
with all these tom-fooleries. Active excercise will 
always keep the feet naturally warm. People 
become positively crippled by the use of too much 
covering to their feet. In Scotland and Ireland, 
where the feet are so little protected, chilblains 
are rare. In England, our children are tormented 
by them. Consumption, which visits us this 
month in all its horrors, may be kept at arm's 
length, by proper care. Air, exercise, and atten- 
tion to diet, are the best foils to its power. 
Sedentary and lazy people, perish by the hundred ; 
whilst the alert, lively, and cheerful, defy both 
wind and tide. We might enlarge on this subject, 
but it is needless. All we will add is, before in- 
troducing a chapter on tight lacing (every daughter 
of Eve must read that chapter, and plead more or 
less guilty to the charges contained in it, notwith- 
standing the sex have improved a little) — rise 

early, and practise all the christian virtues. Love 
every body, — you really can do it if you try 
— better than yourself, and see how a "happy 
heart" will regenerate an ailing constitution. To 
live for others, and to delight in labors of love — 
is happiness and health united. Try the experi- 




Fad habits gather by unseen degrees, 
As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas. 

There is a custom prevailing among the 
women of the present day, a truly horrible cus- 
tom. It is most directly opposed to the dictates 
of nature ; not only irrational, but dangerous, the 
unsuspected parent of numberless diseases.* The 
custom I allude to is, that of tight lacing ; I had 
almost said, that of wearing stays. 

Habit leads people to the most unnatural 
conclusions. Fashion and custom are the parents 
of absurdity. Much as we may laugh at the 
effects which these produce on other nations — 
much as we may ridicule the compressed, the 
crippled, and useless feet of the Chinese females — 
they do not interfere with any important or indis- 
pensable vital organ by the practice. Much as we 
may view with an amused feeling of superiority 
the blackened teeth, the skin painted with many 
colors and grotesque devices, and the be-ringed 
nose and lips of the savage — yet these are only 
what they purport to be ; they are to them orna- 
mental ; they do not interfere with the exercise of 
a single function ; they do not even tend to dis- 
order the health, injure the constitution, or 
curtail the, at best, short span of human life. 

Far different is it with the European custom 
of wearing stays. Let any one who may now 
have his attention for the first time directed to 
this subject, quietly compare his mode of 
breathing with that in which any female breathes, 
and think of what must be the probable effect of 
so great an interference with one of our most im- 
portant functions. He will find that he breathes 
chiefly, if not wholly, by the diaphragm, or muscle 
which divides the chest from the bowels ; that the 
rise and fall of his abdomen is the effect produced 
by his respiration ; that he seldom, unless during 
or immediately after exertion, raises his chest, or 
expands his ribs ; whilst the female, her abdomen 
being confined by her stays, is obliged to 
perform this function by expanding her chest, and 
raising the ribs. But is this all ? No ! in a 
number of instances, the busk, or central bone, 
or steel of the stays, presses on the stomach, 
and produces, by the pressure, disturbance of 
its functions — indigestion and its consequences. 

But further. The muscles of the spine being 
compressed by the stays, and the back not being 
dependent on them for support — shrink, become 
smaller, and consequently weaker ; and the least 

• We have before hinted at the enormity of this evil, 
and pointed out some of the horrors resulting from 
study ins; the fashion of modern d ess. See Vol I., 
page 133; article "Nature and Art."— Ed. K. J. 



debilitating cause affecting them through the 
system, produces weakness of the back, stooping 
shoulders, and deformity ; and then backboards, 
and inclined planes, and other similar attendants 
on the use of stays, are resorted to ; and in their 
turn, of course, prove the means of still further in- 
juring the health or disturbing the system. 

These, however, are the effects attending the 
use of stays — effects which medical men are con- 
stantly called to witness. Their abuse — an abuse 
which female vanity or maternal pride is ever 
producing — is followed by consequences still 
more immediately serious. The ribs form more 
or less yielding walls to the cavity which contains 
the lungs and the heart; they are a series of 
bones, connected behind to the spine, and before 
to cartilages, or gristles, which intervene be- 
tween them and the breast-bone, to render them 
elastic, yielding, and more or less flexible. By 
tight-lacing these qualities, with which nature 
has for wise purposes endowed the ribs, to defend 
the heart and lungs from injury, to lessen the 
risk of undue pressure on them from without, or 
undue resistance to the exercise of their functions; 
these very qualities are, by tight-lacing, converted 
into pregnant sources of evil. The ribs and 
their cartilages yield to the pressure, the respira- 
tion and heart's action are interfered with, and 
disease of the heart or of the lungs is the pro- 
bable and frequent result. 

I am quite aware that all which could be 
written on this subject would not cause stays to 
be disused ; indeed habit may be said to render 
them almost a necessary part of female dress! But, 
as a sort of " forlorn hope," I would beg to offer 
the following suggestions. Let not stays be worn 
until at as late an age as possible ; certainly not be- 
fore twelve or thirteen years old. The older the 
individual, the less soft ; the firmer are the ribs ; 
the less apt to be materially bent by moderate 
pressure. Let them be worn with as few, and as 
thin, and as yielding bones as possible ; and, if it 
could any how be dispensed with, without a busk. 
Let them always be laced loosely. Some at least 
of the evils of this practice will in this way be 
avoided, and the feelings of society not be in the 
least shocked by seeing women without stays. 
Stays are in fact useless : the spine wants no 
support. The way to make it want support is, to 
support it ; and in that way to weaken the 
muscles. The only possible end that stays can 
serve is, to confine and give rigidity to the figure ; 
an effect which would be produced, and produced 
without the ungraceful stiffness, which stays 
always cause, by a stout linen or cotton under- 
garment, made to fit closely to the body. This 
would confine the figure, and it would afford the 
pressure required ; but the pressure would be 
equable, and it would be at no point unyielding ; 
it would not weaken the muscles of the back, by 
affording a useless support to the spine ; it would 
not interfere with the abdominal respiration ; it 
would not press unduly on the stomach ; it 
would not deform the ribs, and so contract the 
cavity of the chest. 

I have made an appeal to the common sense of 
my country-women ; but habit and fashion are 
too firmly seated on their tyrant thrones to lead 
me even to hope that the appeal will be suc- 


We all love to be well ; yet who amongst 
us is there, that takes the direct mode of accom- 
plishing what he most desires? Our stomach gives 
us many " a hint ;" but we turn a deaf ear to its 
remonstrances, and punish it — oh, how cruelly ! 
for its officiousness. An Englishman's stomach 
knows not what repose is ! 

Let us hear what Dr. Todd says about it, for 
we must not take too much upon ourself. " In 
the multitude of counsellors there is safety." The 
Doctor is speaking on the subject of "eating," or 
the Englishman's God : — 

Many silly people will shut themselves up en- 
tirely in unpleasant weather, during the long 
winter, or whenever they find a pressure of busi- 
ness within, or unpleasant weather without ; and 
yet they eat just as voraciously as if they took 
exercise every day. 

To say that no attention is to be paid to diet, 
is madness. You must pay attention to it sooner 
or later. If you are faithful to take regular and 
vigorous exercise every day in the open air, then 
you may eat and pay less attention to quantity 
and quality. But if you take but little exercise, 
you may be sure you are to be a severe sufferer 
if you do not take food in the same proportion. I 
do not ask you to diet ; that is, to be as difficult, 
and as changeable, and as whimsical as possible, 
as if the great point were to see how much you 
can torment yourself and others. But I do ask 
you to beware as to the quantity of food which you 
hurry into the stomach, three times each day, with- 
out giving it any rest. It is the quantity, rather 
than the kinds of food, which destroys sedentary 
persons ; though it is true the more simple the 
food, the better. 

If you are unusually hurried this week, if it 
storms to-day, so that in these periods you cannot 
go out and take exercise, let your diet be very 
sparing, though the temptation to do otherwise 
will be very strong. When by any means you 
have been injured by your food,or have over-stepped 
the proper limits as to eating, I have found in such 
cases that the most perfect way to recover is, to 
abstain entirely from food for three or six meals. 
By this time the stomach will be free, and the 
system restored. I took the hint, from seeing an 
idiot who sometimes had turns of being unwell : 
at such times he abstained entirely from food for 
about three days, in which time nature recovered 
herself, and he was well. This will frequently, 
and perhaps generally, answer instead of medicine ; 
and is every way more pleasant. The most dis- 
tinguished physicians have recommended this 

It is a part of the Mahomedan and Pagan sys- 
tems of religion that the body should be recruited 
by frequent fastings. Let a bull-dog be fed in his 
infancy upon pap, Naples biscuit, and boiled 
chicken ; let him be wrapped in flannel at night, 
sleep on a feather bed, and ride out in a coach for 
an airing ; and if his posterity do not become short- 
limbed and valetudinarian, it will be a wonder. 

We leave our readers to meditate on these sen- 
sible observations. Health is within our reach, 
if we be prudent ; but if we will offend against 
nature, then we must take the consequences. 




And thou, vast Ocean, on whose awful face 
Time's iron feet can print no ruin-trace ; 
By breezes lull'd, or by the storm-blasts driven, 
Thy majesty uplifts the mind to Heaven. 



thing in Nature lias a voice, 
we purpose from time to time 
to ex.amine,with a microscopic 
eye, whatever strikes us as 
being of general interest; more 
particularly those objects 
which come immediately under our ken. Such 
is the Sea-shore. 

The beach on which we walk, strewed with 
pebbles round and smooth almost as marbles, 
tell of the many ages that must have elapsed 
since these stones were once a solid rock. 
One may here trace the first opening crack 
or fissure between the severing mass and the 
parent stone ; how from time to time the con- 
stant but imperceptible flow of the waters 
widened the opening, till at last the fragment 
became entirely disconnected. The same con- 
stant influence, we may suppose, again re- 
duced it to a smaller piece ; till, by degrees, 
the ebb and flow of every separate wave 
rolled it over and over amongst myriads of 
similar shapeless masses, till at last the sharper 
angles were removed, and it became a smooth 
and polished stone — reminding us of the in- 
fluence of society upon man rubbing off all 
the sharper angles and asperities of his nature, 
and transforming the rough schoolboy into 
the polished man of the world ; and it is well 
if, in the polishing, some of the more valuable 
qualities have not been washed away also ! 

Small as these rolling pebbles are, they 
perhaps offer a greater obstacle to the en- 
croachments of the sea than the more solid 
rock, skirting the distant shore, and whose 
bold and rugged surface tells of the constant 
action to which we have just alluded ; nay, 
here and there we find a huge dissevered piece, 
round which the waters have forced a pas- 
sage, transforming it into an island, and then 
gradually lessening in circumference, till the 
island disappears. We may well imagine 
that our own happy isle was once a portion 
of the continent ; for, on looking at a map of 
England, we see how the Thames on one side, 
and the Severn on the other, cut deep into 
our coasts ; and two similar rivers, a little 
further south, may have formed the com- 
mencement of the English Channel, where, 
a passage once gained, the waves of the North- 
ern Ocean would soon increase its width, till 
it became as it now appears ; and when we 
see the changes which even a few years pro- 
duce on some coasts, we can easily estimate 
the effects of the continued wash of ages. 

It is very curious to remark how the tide 
affects a bold, cliffy shore. It first attacks 

the base of the cliffs, every returning tide 
wearing a little further into its recesses ; till at 
last the overhanging top preponderates and 
falls, forming a vast ruin below, which for a 
time protects the cliff from further injury : 
till, again removed by the tide, the same 
process is repeated. Thus we find that on 
all the softer cliff-bound coasts the ocean is 
rapidly gaining, much more so than on the 
flat sandy or pebbly beach. The one, though 
offering, apparently, so much stronger a bar- 
rier than the other, is easily sapped at its foun- 
dation, whilst the sea rolls harmless over the 
other ; indeed, these latter are often carried 
by the waves themselves and deposited on the 
shore, forming for itself the very defence 
which sets bounds to its domain. 

Many of our rivers and harbours are beset 
by barriers of this description, which it has 
taken immense labor and expense to remove. 
Some, indeed, have baffled all the skill of the 
engineer ; and when he has perhaps flattered 
himself that by forming a back water, he has 
vanquished the obstruction, a strong wind 
from some particular point has again replaced 
the bank, and taught him that to contend 
with Nature is no easy task ; also that the 
work of years may in a moment be rendered 
of no use or effect. 

Not a rivulet pours its scanty stream into 
the ocean which is not engaged in carrying 
on the process of change ; bringing with it 
some earthy portion or sediment as its tribute 
to the sea. Vast tracts of land have thus 
been formed at the mouths of large rivers, 
such as the Nile, or Mississippi, where hun- 
dreds of miles of low, swampy country, have 
been formed by the deposits from their turbid 

The waters of the ocean yield to very slight 
impulsions, and are constantly agitated by 
three different movements — the undulatory 
or waves, the tides, and currents. 

Waves are produced by the motion of 
the wind over the surface of the sea ; and 
when this amounts to no more than a gentle 
breeze, the undulatory movement passes 
slowly onward and subsides again ; but when 
a storm arises, the ocean is furrowed by tre- 
mendous waves, or mountainous ridges of 
water, each of which rolls on with furious ra- 
pidity, until its summit arrives at an over- 
charging elevation, from which it necessarily 
precipitates itself by the force of gravity 
and by the acceleration it has acquired in its 
descent, impels forward the mass of water 
immediately before it, which, in its turn, rises, 
forms a wave, and again repeats the same 
operation; and thus a continued succession of 
waves are generated. The swell of the sea 
caused by a gentle wind, will be sufficient 
to produce a considerable surf, when it arrives 
in shallow water ; because the lower part of 
the wave is checked by first reaching the 

Vol. III.— 6. 



ground, and the upper portion of it, continu- 
ing its progress, rushes over the lower, 
dashing itself upon the beach in a torrent of 
curling foam. Dr. Wollaston, on one occa- 
sion, ascertained the velocity of the waves to 
be at the rate of sixty miles an hour. 

Whilst on the shore our attention will be 
drawn to the sea-gulls, which we behold, from 
time to time, skimming over the sea, and 
plunging their beaks into the wave to strike 
their finnyprey. That birds are considerably 
heavier than the element in which they fly, is 
obvious ; what, then, can be the reason that 
they are enabled to support themselves in so 
light a medium ? The balloon and the soap- 
bubble, we need hardly explain, rise in the 
air because they are filled with an air still 
lighter than themselves, which renders them 
specifically lighter than the atmosphere ; but 
this is not the case with birds ; for we see that 
the moment the sportsman levels his piece at 
the poor victim and it receives its shot, it 
falls heavily to the ground — showing that its 
floating capacity depended on a different prin- 

The flight of birds appears more to re- 
semble the flying of a kite, which we know 
does not depend on its specific gravity, 
because the paper and wood of which it is 
formed are much heavier than air ; but the 
theory of its remaining suspended depends 
on the pressure of the wind on its under 
side acting against the resistance of the 
string by which it is held ; and the oblique 
position in which it is balanced causes it 
to ascend, and, as it were, to float in the 
air. On the same principle, birds can only 
remain suspended whilst they continue mov- 
ing through the air ; and the motion of 
their wings impelling them forward, has an 
effect similar to the string of the kite ; for 
it is the same thing whether we pass through 
the air, or whether the air passes by us. On 
a calm day, the boy cannot get his kite to as- 
cend, unless he continue running with it ; 
thus causing it to pass through the air ; but 
on a windy day the kite will rise, though he 
remain stationary. Whilst the bird, there- 
fore, continues in motion, it floats in the air, 
by the resistance of that fluid against the 
breast and the under surface of its wings. 
AVe may often watch a large bird, when de- 
scending from a height, with wings out- 
stretched, soaring along without any appa- 
rent exertion. The momentum he has ac- 
quired, assisted by the descending nature of 
his flight, enables him to pass over a great 
distance on this inclined plane before he 
reaches the ground. If, instead of alight- 
ing, he still continues his flight, it will be ob- 
served, that as soon as he changes to a hori- 
zontal direction, he is obliged to make use 
of his wings to propel himself along. The 
tail of the bird acts the same part as the 

rudder to a ship, for by it he directs his 
course, and elevates or depresses his flight at 

From observing the feathered tribe, we 
will now turn our attention to the dwellers 
in the deep : and here we find that fishes 
float according to their specific gravity ; and 
are enabled to alter this gravity at pleasure, 
by means of an air-vessel situated in their 
bodies, which is surrounded by a strong mus- 
cular fibre. When the fish wishes to de- 
scend, he compresses this air vessel by means 
of the muscle. This reduces the bulk of the 
fish, and accordingly it sinks. When wish- 
ing to ascend again, the fish relaxes the fibre, 
the compressed air then immediately expands, 
and the fish becomes specifically lighter, 
and rises to the surface. When fishing 
for cod where the water is very deep, it 
is no uncommon circumstance for the fish 
to be found with the air-bladder burst on 
arriving to the surface of the water. This 
arises, from the rapidity with which the fish 
has been hauled up having removed the 
pressure from the outside of the air-vessel, 
before the membrane has had time to dilate 
and expand itself; and, consequently, the 
sudden expansion of the air within, when 
the outer pressure is removed, causes the 
vessel to burst, and destroys the fish. 

Surely nothing can be conceived more 
beautifully arranged than this means which 
the fish possesses of adapting itself to the 
different densities of the water in which it 
swims ; but every work of Nature is alike 
replete with the same perfection, though 
we discern but a very small portion of its 
beauties. * 

* From " The Scientific Phenomena of Domes- 
tic Life," a perusal of which we cannot recom- 
mend too heartily. 


I send you, Mr. Editor, for insertion 
in our OWN Journal, a little morceau which 
I have translated from Theophile Gautier's 
" Loin de Paris." There is " something" in 
it, which your readers will readily appreciate. 

In Turkey, the beggar in rags takes his place 
upon the divan of the cafe, next to the most 
sumptuously-dressed Turk, without the latter 
drawing back to avoid the contact of a greasy, 
frayed-out garment, with his own magnificent gold- 
embroidered costume. Still, certain classes have 
their habitual places of meeting ; and the cafe 
with a marble fountain, situated between Serai 
Bournon and the mosque of Yeni Djarni, in one 
of the finest quarters of Constantinople, is fre- 
quented by the best society in the town. 

A charming and peculiarly Oriental feature, 
lends to this cafe, in European eyes, the grace of 
poetry. Swallows have attached their nests to 



the ceiling ; and as the cafe is always open, they 
rapidly wing their way in and out, joyfully twit- 
tering, and bringing food to their young, without 
betraying the slightest fear of the smoke of the 
chibouques, or of the presence of the smokers, 
whose fez, or turban, they sometimes graze with 
their dark wings. The young birds — their heads 
out of the nest, watch quietly with their bead- 
like eyes the guests who go and come ; and sleep 
to the sound of the water gurgling in the 

This confidence of the bird in mankind — these 
nests in the cafe, it is pleasant to see. The 
Orientals, often cruel to mankind, are very 
merciful to animals; and know how to make 
themselves beloved by them. Thus animals 
willingly associate with them. They do not, like 
Europeans, alarm them by their turbulence, their 
loud shouts, and perpetual laughter. 


[We have often observed with regret, the 
extreme persecution to which the swallow is 
subjected in our country. Vain are his over- 
tures to secure the friendship of the family, 
beneath whose roof he seeks to dwell in 
amity. Few nests, comparatively, escape de- 
struction ; they are knocked down, either 
by the boys (who are reared to consider birds 
a lawful sport), or the gardener receives 
orders to destroy them, as they are completed. 
The savageness of an Englishman's heart, in 
the matter of our little annual feathered 
visitors, is (thank God) without a parallel 



Important as we may deem the Eng- 
lish and Continental telegraphs, they have 
(from various causes) been far exceeded by 
those of America, especially in the department 
of newspaper reporting. The first report of 
this kind was transmitted no further back 
than 1846 ; it consisted of an account of a ship 
launch at Brooklyn, and was telegraphed at 
New York for insertion in a Washington 

As the expenses were at first very heavy, 
only a few leading newspapers adopted 
this mode of transmitting news, but the great 
interest felt in the Mexican war, and in the 
rapid transmission of news of several victories, 
gradually brought electro-telegraphic report- 
ing into great favor. After a time, the New 
York and Boston papers clubbed to obtain 
early telegraphic news from England. When 
the mail steamers arrived at Halifax, they ran 
an express coach from thence to Annapolis, 
thence an express steamer to Portland, and 
thence transmitted the news by electric tele- 
graph to Boston and New York ; this system 
cost them about 1 000 dollars per mail. When 
the railways and the telegraph lines became 

extended further east, the cost was of course 
much diminished. 

At the outset, there was a want of system 
in the collection, transmission, and distribution 
of telegraph news for the press. The clerks 
in the telegraph offices being occupied in the 
immediate duties of their vocation, could not 
be expected to collect news from various 
points. It was after a time determined to 
organise a corps of telegraph reporters, whose 
business it should be to collect and transmit 
news. These reporters devised a new kind of 
cipher, by which they could transmit com- 
mercial and market news with great brevity ; 
the produce, the sales, and the prices of va- 
rious commodities in the inland states, were 
transmitted to the merchants of New York in 
very condensed forms ; and other ciphers or 
systems of short-hand were afterwards em- 
ployed on other commercial routes. Ten 
words in cipher made about fifty or sixty 
words when written out in full. 

Mr. Jones, in his recent work relating to 
the electric telegraphs of America, gives an 
instance to illustrate the curious nature of a 
cipher employed by hirn as a telegraphic re- 
porter. Suppose the message to consist of 
the following nine words — " bad, came, aft, 
keen, dark, ache, lain, fault, adapt ; " this 
would convey the following commercial in- 
formation : — " Flour market for common and 
fair brands of western is lower, with moderate 
demand for home trade and export. Sales, 
8,000 barrels. Gennesse, at 5.12 dollars. 
Wheat, prime, in fair demand, market firm, 
common description dull, with a downward 
tendency ; sales, 4,000 bushels, at 1.10. dollars. 
Corn, foreign news unsettled the market ; no 
sales of importance made. The only sale 
made was 2,500 bushels at 67 cents." The 
nine words are thus almost as comprehensive 
in their significance, as Lord Burleigh's cele- 
brated shake of the head. The use of short- 
hand in these despatches arose chiefly from 
considerations of economy ; the companies 
charge so much per word for transmission, and 
it thus becomes important to make each short 
word signify as much as possible. Newspaper 
despatches are charged one cent (a halfpenny) 
per word from New York to Boston, and 14 
cents per word from Washington to New 
Orleans. The same system of short-hand was 
carriedinto legislative reporting; for instance, 
the word battle was understood to mean " The 
Senate agreed to a house proposition for a 
committee of conference on — ;" the word cave 
implied, " The resolution referring the Presi- 
dent's message to appropriate committees was 
then called up ;" and so forth. 

The press at first, owing to the expense, 
would not agree to receive more telegraphic 
news for each number than would fill half a 
column to a column. Persons used to supply 
them under a weekly contract, the contractor 

g 2 



paying all charges to the reporters and the 
companies. "When competing lines of tele- 
graph were, however, established, the charges 
became much lower ; the reporters abandoned 
their short-hand, for the most parr, and the 
newspapers increased their quantum of tele- 
graphic news. Merchants still continue to 
use ciphers to a considerable extent, simply 
as a means of keeping their real meaning to 
themselves and their correspondents. 

By degrees the newspaper arrangements in 
connection with the electric telegraph became 
very comprehensive, and at the present time 
seven New York papers join in a system, of 
which the following is an outline. They 
employ an agent, who becomes responsible 
for all news arrangements of a commercial 
and miscellaneous character, throughout the 
United States. The agent receives and dis- 
tributes the news, and pays all tolls and ex- 
penses. He employs reporters in all the 
principal cities in the Union and in Canada, 
who transmit to him daily, by electric tele- 
graph, the news which they have collected. 
He makes eight or ten copies of this news 
by manifold machines, after putting the details 
into readable English, and sends seven of 
these to the New York journals by whom he 
is employed. The agent has a central office 
in New York, from whence he communicates 
with the newspaper offices. When Congress 
is sitting, one reporter attends the Senate, and 
another the House of Representatives, but the 
same report from either House, is made avail- 
able for all the seven newspapers at New T York. 
The associated press have certain rules for 
then* guidance, whereby all pay equally for 
ordinary intelligence, but each pays especially 
for particular news not valued or used by the 
others. The New York papers pay on an 
average, about £1000 per annum each, for 
electro-telegraphic news. 


How BEAUTirrL is the month of June ! 
How full of interest a ramble in the leafy 
wood, or green meadow, where the sweet 
flowers cluster and bend with the weight of 
the bee ; when that peculiar vapor is waving in 
the clear sunlight, and not a sound breaks on 
the ear save the tinkle of the sheep bell, or 
song of the wild bird in the wood ! 

A bright morning in June, 1852, found a 
friend and myself on our way to Cromehurst. 
In passing through the town we took several 
specimens of a beautiful little insect (Elachista 
LinnaeUa). At Cromehurst, I took a specimen 
of the Ruff Wing {Phtheocroa Rugosana) and 
several of the yellow Shell (Camptogramma 
Bilinearia) ; also several caterpillars of the 
Drinker (Odonestis Potatoria). The hedges 

on our way were white with the blossoms 
of the Dogwood (Comus sanguinea) ; and the 
yellow Agrimony {Agrimoma eupatoria), the 
Scarlet-Pimpernel (Anagnllis arvensi-i), the 
brighter poppy (Pa paver Ehccas), the Burnet 
(Pateriu/n sanguisorba) and beautiful blossom 
of the Vipers Bugloss (Echium vidgare), were 
adorning the roadside. 

From Cromehurst we proceeded through 
Beveral fields toward Riddelsdown. On the 
edge of one of these fields, we captured 
several specimens of that delicate insect, 
the Bedford Blue (Lyccvna AIsus). We now 
proceeded to Riddlesdown. Here are several 
Beeches of enormous size, sombre Yews, 
Alders, Oaks, Hazels, and Juniper bushes. 
Flowers too without number were scattered 
over the surface of this beautiful down. 

I must here regret my limited knowledge 
of Botany, and remark that an excursion to 
the charming spot will well repay either the 
Botanist or Entomologist. Here I took three 
specimens of the Orange Tip (Anthocharis 
Cardamines) . Hovering over the blossoms 
of the lovely Scabious were numbers of the 
Common Blue and Brown Argus (Lycccna 
Alexis and Agcstis.) Nothing more of any 
note presenting itself, we proceeded to Sander- 
sted Downs, noticing on the way several 
beautiful fields of Saintfoin (Hedysarum 
onobrychis) . Here we stopped awhile to con- 
template the beauty of the scene. Before us, 
far as the eye could reach, was a beautiful, 
succession of hill and dale, green meadows, 
waving corn-fields,and wide-stretching woods. 
Behind us lay London, its troubles, cares, 
and gloom ; while ever and anon, mellowed by 
the distance and cooling breeze, came the 
shepherd's song, the low of cattle, and lusty 
I bark of the sheep-dog. These brought repose 
| to the weary spirit ; to the mind, a sense of 
the grandeur and vastness of God's works. 

Here we took several specimens of that 
truly elegant insect, the Clifden B\ue y Lyctna 
Adonis). Many a pleasing recollection of 
the glories of yet distant summer has been 
brought to mind, whilst gazing on this beau- 
tiful insect, the loveliest of its genus. Here 
too, we took a specimen of the Brimstone 
Butterfly (Rhodocera RhamniJ, which, sur- 
viving the storms of winter, appears with 
the first warm days of spring, heralding the 
opening year. 

In the same spot, I took a specimen of 
the Small Elephant Hawk (Deilephila Par- 
cellus); and here, the year before last, my com- 
panion captured eight specimens of the 
Clouded Yellow (Colias Edusa). 

February 11, 1853. C. Miller. 

True Happiness. — The happiness of life is so 
nice a thing, that, like the sensitive plant, it 
| shrinks away even whilst we are thinking of it. 





Through hedge-row leaves, in drifted heaps, 

Left by the stormy blast, 
The little hopeful blossom peeps, 

And tells of Winter past. 
A few leaves nutter from the woods, 

That hung the season through, 
Leaving their place for swelling buds 

To spread their leaves anew. 

When we have safely passed through 
the asthmatic months of January and Febru- 
ary, we feel as if we had a right to look forward 
to a pleasing change. These two months are, 
invariably, very trying to an invalid. So much 
rain, so much damp, and so many keen, biting 
winds, have we to contend with ; that we had 
need be case-hardened to arrive at the month 
of March, in anything like good-health. Eng- 
land ! — thy subjects are well-tried ! 

It is a prevalent notion, that the climate of 
this country has altered. The winters are 
assuredly now much milder than they were 
in the end of the last, and beginning of the pre- 
sent century. Mr. Knight tells us, that the 
winters seventy years ago were much more 
severe than they had been for some time pre- 
vious to his writing the following remarks, 
in 1829. Horticultural Transactions, Yol.V II., 
p. 536 . — " There are, 1 believe, few persons 
who have noticed, and who can recollect, the 
state of the climate of England half a century 
ago, who will not be found to agree in the 
opinion that considerable changes have taken 
place in it ; and that our winters are now 
generally warmer than they were at that 
period ( 1779 ). The opinion of such persons 
would be entitled to very little attention, if 
they were adduced to prove that our climate 
has grown colder ; because they themselves, 
being far advanced in life, and therefore less 
patient of cold, and being also incapable of 
bearing the same degree of exercise which 
kept them warm in youth, — might be readily 
drawn to conclude that the severity of our 
winters has increased. But when their evi- 
dence tends to prove that our winters have 
become warmer, it cannot, I think, be reason- 
ably rejected. My own habits and pursuits, 
from a very early period of my life to the 
present time, have led me to expose myself 
much to the weather, in all seasons of the 
year and under all circumstances. No doubt 
whatever remains in my mind, that our win- 
ters are generally a great deal less severe 
than formerly." To come to the point 
about this, a table has been prepared and 
published, from the mean monthly tempera- 
tures of eighty years, including the period 
from 1771 to 1851. 

From this it appears, that fifteen winters 
out of the twenty, between 1771 and 1791, 
were severe ; and that only seventeen out of 
forty winters, between 1811 and 1851, had that 

character, or little more than half. The preva- 
lence of numerous very cold winters is thus 
traced to the period between 1771 and 1791. 
The winter is severe when the mean of the 
four months, from November to February 
inclusive, is below 36°. Nine such occurred 
in the eighty years ; and five of them between 
1775 and 1795, or more than half in the ear- 
liest twenty years. 

With regard to the months of December 
and January, it may be briefly stated — that 
the former of these is reckoned unusually cold, 
when its mean temperature is at or below the 
freezing point ; and there were only five in- 
stances of this in the period of eighty years, 
three of which occurred between 1784 and 
1796, and the other two in 1840 and 1846. 
January is intensely cold when its mean tem- 
perature is below 30°. There are six in- 
stances of such, in the eighty years ; four be- 
tween 1776 and 1795, and only two in the 
present century — namely, in 1814 and 1838. 
The latter will be well remembered, for, 
under its influence plants perished that had 
withstood all the other extremely cold 
Januarys, even those of which the mean tem- 
perature was still lower than that of 1838, the 
mean of which was 27.79°; whilst that of 
January, 1814, was 26,71°, and of January, 
1795,795.26 751. 

Thus it becomes evident, that severe winters 
were unusually prevalent between 1771 and 
1791 ; that in the first ten years of that period 
the months of January were excessively cold ; 
that the next ten years, the winters maintained 
fully an average temperature ; that those of 
the next ten years were still warmer ; between 
1811 and 1821 they fell below the average ; 
but since that time, they have been generally 
above it. 

Cold and ungenial as are the months of 
January and February, yet is there much 
passing out of doors, during their continuance, 
that merits observation, and amply repays 
one for a morning ramble. When the sun 
shines, we enjoy a walk on a winter's day be- 
yond expression. The eye sees quite suffi- 
cient to prompt the mind ; andthe mind awak- 
ened, furnishes quite a feast for reflection. 
If we do not see things grow thus early, we 
can yet see how they are protected from the 
influence of cold, and praise the providential 
care that holds them all in life. Every field, 
every hedge, every lane, has a speaking voice. 
Turn which v/ay we will, we cannot help 
seeing that — 

There lives and works 
A soul in all things, — and that soul is God. 
He marks the hounds which winter may not pass, 
And blunts his pointed fury ; in its case, 
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, 
Uninjured, with inimitable art. 

The plants, early in the year, are provided 
by nature with a sort of winter quarters, 



which secure them from the effects of cold. 
Those called herbaceous, which die down to 
the root every autumn, are now safely con- 
cealed under ground, — preparing their new 
shoots to burst forth, when the earth is sof- 
tened in Spring. Shrubs and trees, which are 
exposed to the open air, have all their soft 
and tender parts closely wrapped up in buds, 
which by their firmness resist all the power 
of frost. The larger kind of buds, and those 
which are now almost ready to expand, — such 
as the horse-chestnut, the sycamore, and the 
lime, are further guarded by a covering of 
resin or gum. Their external coverings, 
however, and the closeness of their internal 
texture, are of themselves by no means ade- 
quate to resist the intense cold of a winter's 

AYere a bud to be detached from its stem, 
enclosed in a glass, and thus protected from all 
access of external air — it would, if suspended 
from a tree during a sharp frost, be entirely 
penetrated, and its parts deranged by the cold. 
Such would not be the case,while the buds re- 
mained on the tree. They would experience 
no injury whatever. AA^e must therefore at- 
tribute to the living principle in vegetables, 
as well as animals, the power of resisting cold 
to a very considerable degree. We may re- 
mark, that if one of these buds be carefully 
opened, it will be found to consist of young 
leaves rolled together; within which are indeed 
all the blossoms in miniature that are after- 
wards to adorn the Spring. But let us travel 
on. The sun is now fast awakening mother 
earth's latent energies. She rouses from her 
sleep, greets the god of day, and smiles benig- 
nantly in the consciousness of her strength. 
AVe have passed through the most gloomy 
part of the opening year. The mornings are 
bright, the days are expanded, and the heart 
feels the influences of the season. There is 
no excuse now for lying in bed. So let us all 
up with the lark : — 

Stern Winter's sky no more with tempest lowers, 
To Arctic climes rough Boreas steals away ; 

And vernal breezes and refreshing showers 
Are now companions of the lengthened day. 

The modest snowdrop, harbinger of Spring, 
Now greets the eye with robe of virgin white ; 

With joyful notes the birds begin to sing 
At peep of dawn, to hail the new-born light. 

Pleased with young life, the sportive lambs are 
Striving in mimic race with guileless mirth ; 
Kind Nature now prepares her garb of green 
To clothe her flow'rets teeming into birth. 
At this sweet season let not man be sad, 
AVhile bounteous Heav'n makes all around him 

There are frequently mornings in March, 
when a lover of nature may enjoy, in a stroll, 
sensations not to be exceeded, or, perhaps, 

equalled by any thing which the full glory 
of summer can awaken : — mornings which 
tempt us to cast the memory of winter, or 
the fear of recurrence, out of our thoughts. 
The air is mild and balmy, with now and 
then a cool gush, by no means unpleasant, 
but, on the contrary, contributing towards 
that cheering and peculiar feeling which we 
experience only in Spring. The sky is clear, 
the sun flings abroad not only a gladdening 
splendor, but an almost summer glow. The 
world seems suddenly aroused to hope and 
enjoyment. The fields are assuming a ver- 
nal greenness, — the buds are swelling in the 
hedges, — the banks are displaying, amidst 
the brown remains of last year's vegetation, 
the luxuriant weeds of this. There are 
arums, ground-ivy, chervil, the glaucous 
leaves, and burnished flowers of the pilewort, 

The first gilt thing 
AVhich wears the trembling pearls of spring ; 

and many other fresh and early bursts of 
greenery. All unexpectedly too, in some 
embowered lane, you are arrested by the de- 
licious odor of violets — those sweetest of 
Flora's children, which have furnished so 
many pretty allusions to the poets, and 
which are not yet exhausted. They are like 
true friends, — we do not know half their 
sweetness till they have felt the sunshine of 
our kindness ; and again, they are like the 
pleasures of our childhood, the earliest and 
the most beautiful. Now, how r ever, they are 
to be seen in all their glory — blue and white 
— modestly peering through the leaves. The 
lark is carolling in the blue fields of air ; the 
blackbird and thrush are again shouting and 
replying to each other from the tops of the 
highest trees. As you pass cottages, they 
have caught the happy infection. There are 
windows thrown open, and doors standing 
ajar. The inhabitants are in their gardens ; 
some cleaning away rubbish, some turning 
up the light and fresh -smelling soil amongst 
the tufts of snowdrops and rows of glowing 
yellow crocusses, which everywhere abound; 
and the children, ten to one, are busy peeping 
into one of the first bird's nests of the season 
— the hedge sparrow's, with its four blue 
eggs, snugly, but unwisely, built where it can 
be easily seen. 

In the fields, the laborers are planting and 
trimming the hedges; and in all directions 
are teams at plough. You smell the whole- 
some, and we may truly say, aromatic soil, 
as it is turned up to the sun, brown and rich, 
the whole country over. It is delightful as 
you pass along deep, hollow lanes, or are 
hidden in copses, to hear the tinkling gear 
of the horses, and the clear voices of the 
lads calling to them. It is not less pleasant 
to catch the busy caw of the rookery, and 
the first meek cry of the young lambs. The 



hares are hopping about the fields, the ex- 
citement of the season overcoming their 
habitual timidity. The bees are revelling 
in the yellow catkins of the sallow. The 
woods, though yet unadorned with their 
leafy garniture, are beautiful to look on; 
they seem flushed with life. Their boughs 
are of a clear glossy lead color, and the 
tree-tops are rich with the vigorous hues of 
brown, red, and purple : and if you plunge 
into their solitudes, there are symptoms of 
revivification under your feet, the springing 
mercury, and green blades of the blue-bells 
— and perhaps, above you, the early nest 
of the missel-thrush perched between the 
boughs of a young oak, to tinge your 
thoughts with the anticipation of summer. 

These are mornings not to be neglected 
by the lover of Nature ; and if not neglected, 
then, not to be forgotten, for they will stir 
the springs of memory, and make us live 
over again times and seasons, in which we 
cannot, for the pleasure and the purity of 
our spirits, live too much. 

A few more keen winds no doubt await us 
in this changeable climate of ours ; but the 
sun is now glorious in his might, and we 
can often get abroad to revel in a joyous 
walk. An extra coat buttoned round us, and 
a light heart, bid defiance to all external in- 
fluences now. We have nearly arrived at 
" the time of the singing of birds ;" and we 
mean to sing as loud, if not so musically, as 
any of them. Meantime, let a most favorite 
bard of ours be heard — in his 


Come hither, come hither, and view the face 

Of Nature, enrobed in her vernal grace. 

By the hedgerow, way-side flowers are springing ; 

On the budding elms the birds are singing ; 

And up — up — to the gates of Heaven 

Mounts the lark, on the wings of her rapture 

The voice of the streamlet is fresh and loud ; 
On the sky there is not a speck of cloud ; 
Come hither, come hither, and join with me 
In the season's delightful jubilee ! 

Haste out of doors — from this pastoral mount 
The isles of ocean thine eye may count. 
From coast to coast, and from town to town, 
You can see the white sails gleaming down, 
Like monstrous water-birds, which fling 
The golden light from each snowy wing ; 
And the chimnied steam-boat tossing high 
Its volumed smoke to the waste of sky : 
While you note, in foam, on the yellow beach, 
The tiny billows, each chasing each, 
Then melting like cloudlets in the sky, 
Or Time in the sea of Eternity ! 
Why tarry at home ? the swarms of air 
Are about — and o'erhead — and everywhere. 
The little moth opens its silken wings, 
And from right to left like a blossom, flings. 
And from side to side, like a thistle-seed, 
Uplifted by winds from September meads, 

The midge and the fly from their long, dull sleep 
Venture again on the light to peep. 
Over lake and land abroad they flee, 
Filling air with their murmuring ecstasy. 
The hare leaps up from his brushwood bed, 
And limps, and turns his timid head ; 
The partridge whirrs from the glade ; the mole 
Pops out from the earth of its wintry hole ; 
And the perking squirrel's small nose you see 
From the fungous nook of its own beech tree. 

Come, hasten ye hither. Our garden bowers, 
Are green with the promise of budding flowers. 
The crocus, and, Spring's first messenger, 
The faeiy snowdrop, are blooming here. 
The taper-leafed tulip is sprouting up ; 
The hyacinth speaks of its purple cup ; 
The jonquil boasteth, ' Ere few weeks run, 
My golden sunlet I'll show the sun ;' 
The gilly-flower shoots its stems on high, 
And peeps on Heaven with its pinky eye. 
Primroses, an Iris-hued multitude, 
By the kissing winds are wooing and wooed ; 
While the wall-flower threatens, with bursting 

To darken its blossoms with Winter's blood. 
Come here, come hither ; and mark how swell 
The fruit-buds of the jargonelle. 
On its yet but leaf-let greening boughs, 
The apricot open its blossom throws ; 
The delicate peach-tree's branches run 
O'er the warm wall, glad to feel the sun ; 
And the cherry proclaims of cloudless weather, 
When its fruit and the blackbirds will toy to- 
See, the gooseberry bushes their riches show ; 
And the currant-bunch hangs its leaves below ; 
And the damp-loving rasp saith, " I'll win your 

With my grateful coolness on harvest days." 
Come along, come along, and guess with me 
How fair and how fruitful the year shall be ! 

Look into the pasture-grounds o'er the pale, 
And behold the foal with its switching tail ; 
About and abroad in its mirth it flies, 
With its long black forelocks about its eyes ; 
Or bends its neck down with a stretch, 
The daisy's earliest flower to reach. 
See, as on by the hawthorn fence we pass, 
How the sheep are nibbling the tender grass, 
Or holding their heads to the sunny ray, 
As if their hearts, like its smile, were gay ! 
While the chattering sparrows, in and out, 
Fly the shrubs, and trees, and roofs about ; 
And sooty rooks, loudly cawing, roam 
With sticks and straws to their woodland home. 

Out upon in-door cares ! Rejoice 
In the thrill of Nature's bewitching voice ! 
The finger of God hath touched the sky, 
And the clouds, like a vanquished army, fly ; 
Leaving a rich, wide, azure bow, 
O'erspanning the works of his hand below. 
The finger of God hath touched the earth, 
And it starts from slumber in smiling mirth ; 
Behold it awake in the bird and bee, 
In the springing flower, and the sprouting tree, 
And the leaping trout, and the lapsing stream, 
And the south wind soft, and the warm sun- 
beam : — 



From the sward beneath, and the boughs above, 
Come the scent of flowers and the sounds of love. 
Then haste thee hither, and join thy voice 
With a world's, which shouts, — "Rejoice! 
Rejoice ! " 



{Continued from page 26.) 

We were a true prophet/whilst announcing 
in our last, that a week or two would make 
a remarkable difference in the voices of the 
blackbird and the thrush. They have done so 
— so remarkable a change as to be deserving 
of comment. 

As we make a point of rising betimes — 
bearing in mind the dictum " caned into us" 
by the worthy pedagogue who took charge 
of us in boyhood, 

" Diluculo surgere saluberrimum est — " 
no one better than ourself could tell of the 
birds' early movements. At 6 a.m., we spring 
from our nest ; and by so doing, hear the very 
first voice that is audible in the garden, and 
in Ravenscourt Park. 

Since the very heavy rains — so plentiful 
in quantity, the voices of the birds seem to 
have recovered their original quality and tone. 
"We now hear the blackbird at the first streak 
of dawn, quite melodiously discoursing ; and 
half an hour after him, the thrush " piping" 
most merrily and joyously. The mornings 
are lighter, the days longer. Hourly do we 
perceive signs of renewed life in vegetation, 
and symptoms of bustling activity among the 
feathered tribes. 

We now get a morning, noon, and evening 
visit from the little rogue in scarlet livery, 
who has made our garden his home through 
the early winter. Nor does he come unac- 
companied. No ! He has changed his state. 
A bachelor no longer, he seems aware of his 
importance ; and his lady-love has been duty 
presented to us at the window. A pretty 
creature is she, — most truly so. " Sure such 
a pair were never seen ! " 

The thrushes, too, are now " single" no 
longer. Each has paid his vows ; and at the 
shrine of affection he has resigned his heart. 
The same protestations have been gone 
through with the blackbirds ; and with the 
s^me kindly results. " Dickey Dimnock" also, 
with such an example before him, has gone 
and done likewise ; and the wren, with his 
tiny spouse, is not found wanting. Our's 
now, is a " garden of delights." We look 
daily for nests ; then for eggs ; then foryoung 
" happyjamilies." They are all " at home" 
with us. We love it to be so. 

The fair moon has been shining brightly ; 
and though the season is yet chilly, we fail 
not occasionally to take a bracing evening 

walk, to enjoy her light, which aids us in 
many a reflection. February has not passed 
over without leaving much to be pleasantly 

Reverting to our friends— the birds,we con- 
sider it right pleasing to listen to their 
harmless, eloquent tales of love and affection, 
— so unresistingly urged, so unconditionally 
accepted ; nor can we help saying, after our 
own fashion of plain-speaking, that we wish 
things were as well " ordered" amongst our- 
selves. It would be better for us, and for 
society too. Full many a time have we 
wished — positively wished, in our early days, 
that we were a sky-lark ! A " happy life" 
is his ! 

But now we must imagine — a distressing 
thing for our imagination to dwell on, — 
that our readers have a blackbird, and are going 
to keep him. The first thing then to con- 
sider, under such circumstances, is a proper 

Formerly, wicker cages were in great vogue ; 
but they are horrible dwellings for a joyous 
bird to inhabit ; and we are glad to observe 
they are nearly obsolete. In their stead, we 
have been largely the means of introducing 
proper-sized wooden cages ; wide, deep, and 
tall — thereby affording the tenant room to be 
" comfortable." It is marvellous to think 
that until the present moment — and even now 
we are " fools" in the matter of bird-cages, 
no attempt whatever has been put forth to 
build a handsome, appropriate, or becoming 
cage for animals, in whom some people's 
very existence has been bound up I 

We repeat, we never have seen, — never do 
see, any cage that is at all adapted either for 
the well-being of the prisoner or for the orna- 
ment of a drawing-room. Hence, in many 
cases, the confiding of a u pet" canary to the 
tender mercies of a servant-maid ; and conse- 
quently, to the somewhat less tender mercies 
of a pampered cat. All this is in bad taste ; 
and w r e hope in our life-time to see it altered. 
Surely we have amongst us men sufficiently 
clever to make a bird-cage "to order !" And 
is our taste so utterly depraved, that we can 
originate no improvement ? Surely not, let 
us hope. 

The fittings-up of your cage must be well 
looked to. One side must be entirely boarded ; 
and the other half boarded, from the bottom 
upwards. This will prevent draughts sweep- 
ing through the cage. The top must also 
be of wood, shelving down on either side. The 
receptacles for food and water must be out- 
side, always. They should be of white delph, 
—deep, and fitted into wooden boxes. By 
this means, the food will be kept from being 
scattered, and the trough of the cage from 
being wetted. These are two grand consi- 

There should be three perches in every 



cage. One lofty percli across the cage, and 
two lower ones to enable the bird to get at 
his food and water. These should be of deal, 
painted; and square. Round perches are 
altogether objectionable. The front of the 
cage should be of rounded, " wooden wires," 
rather close together, as these birds like re- 
tirement ; and they should be suspended 
from some window where the aspect is mild. 
In early spring, they should face the sun. 
When His Mightiness shows the first indica- 
tion of his glorious presence being about to 
appear, do you be in readiness to spring from 
your couch. There is a treat even now pre- 
paring for us — which we who rise so very 
early already luxuriate in ; one that makes us 
laugh at the roughness of " Sturdy old Win- 
ter." He may do us some little mischief, it 
is true ; but we shall rise superior to it all, 
and join at an early day, with all our little 
friends, in bidding him adieu for a long 

Few can know, — none indeed save those 
who live in the country, how delightful it is 
to hear once again the song of this glossy, 
happy, noble rogue : — 

— 'Tis long, 'tis very long — 

Since, standing at our garden window, 

The blackbird sung us forth ; from yonder hough 

That hides the arbour — loud and full at first, 

Warbling his invitations. 

Yet do we recognise his voice, and joy 
in the thought of again living in his presence. 
Our lawn shall yield him, as of old, his break- 
fast, — our fruit-trees his dessert ; our foliage 
his protection ; and our garden shall be his 
home. Tt is a bargain. But now for the 
choice of a blackbird. 

In this matter, much is left to opinion. 
Spme like a very tame, others a very wild 
bird. In the former case, the song is seldom 
so good ; in the latter, the bird is generally 
possessed of his natural note. 

Blackbirds are imitative, — so much so, that 
it is difficult to procure a young bird that does 
not " talk gibberish." If he hears a whistle, 
he will try to imitate it ; if a noise, he will try 
and copy it. This will ever be the case, 
where they are kept within hearing of such 
annoyances. The best birds are, beyond all 
question, those called " bat-folded,"— that is, 
caught wild, at night, in a net. 

These birds will sometimes take kindly to 
a cage at once, and sing sweetly in a week. 
Others again refuse to be comforted, sulk, 
and only volunteer a song when they are 
quite alone. They like too to be suspended 
at some considerable height. They should 
be procured in the autumn season ; if taken 
now, they would fall sick and die. Their 
troth is pledged, their plans are laid, their 
nests are built, and all arrangements made 
for the season. Let us place ourselves in a 

similar position, by hypothesis ; and ask if 
ice could be happy and sing, if we were sepa- 
rated from all we held dear ? The case is 
analogous. There is no difficulty in procur- 
ing these bat-folded birds ; but it will be de- 
sirable to hear them sing, before you become 
a purchaser ; and to take them away in the 
same cage. 

There will be plenty of young blackbirds 
in the London markets in another week or so. 
They are usually brought from the country 
in nests, containing four and five young birds. 
One of these nests you may procure for about 
eighteen -pence : and if you rear the birds 
yourself, you may chance to get two fine 
ones from the number. 

Directly you get them, place them in a 
cage with a wire front, so that they may have 
a long run. Cover the bottom with fine red 
dry gravel, and place the cage in the sun. 
Feed them with bruised hemp seed, and 
crumb of bread (stale), scalded. Administer 
this, at the end of a short skewer, every 
quarter of an hour when your birds are very 
young — afterwards, every half-hour. Coax 
your birds to help themselves, from the end 
of the skewer, as early as you can. They 
are ready scholars, and soon find the way 
to their mouths. Most other animals do 
the same ! 

Be constant in supplying them with cold, 
fresh water; this may easily be done by 
dipping your little finger into a basin or 
cup, and allowing the water to drip from 
it into the bird's open mouth. Young birds' 
mouths are always open ! Of course, you will 
see that low perches are fixed across the cage. 
On these they will presently hop, and soon 
show signs of maturity. They will " record" 
their song, ere yet they are five weeks old. 

We have, in our First and Second Volumes, 
dwelt at considerable length on the great 
importance of bringing up birds under " an 
eminent master." If you will have " good 
birds," in no other way can you obtain such. 
We have just been educating some young 
German canaries ; and our success with them 
has been surprisingly great. We are enter- 
tained every evening, after the fatigues of the 
day, with music that might well be supposed 
to have emanated from a nightingale in the 
grove. This really repays one for one's trou- 
ble ; and such music must be seasonable at 
all times. We name this emphatically, to 
encourage all our readers to persevere. No- 
thing is " impossible." 

In our next, we will speak of the proper 
food for blackbirds ; and treat of several im- 
portant matters connected with their health 
and happiness. They are easily tamed, very 
affectionate, very observant ; and know well 
who appreciates their excellencies. A loving 
mistress or a kind master need never be in 
want of a melodious song. Where the heart 



is held captive, all the affections flow out 
spontaneously. It is Nature's law. 

As for the blackbirds on our garden lawn, 
— even now they show themselves in all their 
glory. The rising sun gilds their plumage, 
and the fresh air gladdens their hearts. 
Perched aloft, we leave them happy ; and we 
seldom depart without a song. This is plea- 
sant, as the year is young : — 

As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd, 
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze ; 
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 
Defomi the day delightless. 

But the day is even now at our doors, 
when Spring, with all its enchanting beauties, 
will burst upon us. For this, and for a mild, 
genial air, let us patiently wait. 

No. VII. 

( Continued from page ?8J 

It gives us pleasure to learn, that 
the subject now under discussion is becoming 
one of universal interest. The letters we are 
daily receiving, convince us that we have 
awakened a feeling that is not likely soon to 
be set aside. Nature's voice is so gentle, — 
her precepts are so loving, that a heart not 
habitually " hard" must feel their influence. 
But to our task : 

Our little tenants having now taken quiet 
possession of their freehold, we will try yet 
again to devise some additional means of 
adding to their domestic happiness. 

In enumerating the particular tribes by will be seen there are some which we 
have purposely omitted ; such as, amongst 
others, the greenfinch, bramblefinch, hawfinch, 
and the starling. The first of these is a 
large ugly " gawky," with a harsh wiry voice, 
painful to listen to. He will eat, too, thrice 
more than he is worth in a single week. The 
other three are maliciously spiteful, and must 
be also among the rejected. They would 
destroy the entire colony in an incredibly 
short space of time, if they once gained 

When enumerating our reasons for ex- 
cluding hen birds from the aviary, we left, of 
necessity, much for conjecture. Full of 
meaning, however, as the " hints" were, and 
quite sufficient for the purpose, yet there are 
others equally stringent. 

With a view to the regular increase of the 
stock, we provided, when first " colonising," 
a number of square mahogany nest-boxes, 
which were fixed against the wall. Also, 
nest-bags, and such other materials as were 
necessary for the purpose of " building." In 
these boxes, from time to time, a number of 

nests were formed ; eggs were laid ; and the 
process of incubation went forward. We 
anticipated much amusement, and much 
delight, from the young progeny when 
hatched ; but, alas, our anticipations of 
pleasure were doomed never to be realised. 
There were such " awful goings on," as we 
shall presently relate, among the various 
u settlers," that we were obliged, within the 
first three months, to commit an act of 
ejectment. The sex called " gentle," it was 
found necessary to banish for ever ! " 'Tis 
true, 'tis pity — pity 'tis, 'tis true !" 

Had we succeeded in establishing "a 
peaceful colony" on so grand a scale, we 
should have accomplished, we understand, 
what has never yet been done. No sooner 
were any eggs laid by a canary, or a siskin, 
(aberdevine), than a rival hen goldfinch 
would alight on the nest-box, seize the eggj 
and dropping it from above, on the ground 
beneath, listen with maniacal ecstacy to the 
music of its destructive fall. 

The thrush, too, known universally as an 
" imitative" bird, would oftentimes amuse 
himself in the accomplishment of a similar 
exploit. He was ready, at a moment's notice, 
to " assist" any of the rival malcontents in a 
crusade against the eggs and young. No 
sooner were the latter born — succeed we did 
in getting a few broods hatched — than the 
conspirators went to work with an energy, 
and a unity of purpose, worthy of a better 
cause. Despite the vigorous resistance of 
the parent-birds, " thrice armed by Nature's 
powerful wand," then- infant offspring were 
remorselessly dragged, " callow" as they 
were, from their cradles ; suspended in mid- 
air, like Mahomet's coffin ; and then, with 
deadly hate, dashed forcibly to the ground. 
There were a number of offenders in this 
way. They were all tried and condemned ; 
their sentence — banishment — being carried 
into immediate effect. 

Canaries, alone, will pair and breed ex- 
cellently well in an aviary ; but the admixture 
of a number of other tribes for breeding 
purposes, is evidently a " mistake." A little 
calm reflection will show good reason for this, 
seeing how very dissimilar are the taste and 
habits of some birds compared with others — 
these courting retirement, and feeling annoyed 
when disturbed ; those rejoicing in mischief, 
and never so happy as when up to their ears 
in excitement. 

As your little friends will try every possible 
mode of amusing themselves at your expense, 
you must take special care to nail your floor- 
cloth, and paste your paper, evenly on the 
wall or ceiling. If they can only find one 
end that they can unravel, one projection 
that they can peck at, they will go to work 
with such artistic skill, that they will soon 
disfigure the room. Be careful, therefore, 



to give them no opportunity for the exercise 
of their ingenuity in this matter. 

Keep the windows constantly open, and 
admit a free current of air ; closing them in 
winter only, at night. The room will always 
be sufficiently warm. If, however, there be 
any fog or continuous rainy or damp weather, 
then, of course, the windows should not be 

You will find that the birds will soon get into 
a habit of perching on, or rather clinging to, 
the ledges of the windows. To obviate this, 
which is very objectionable, seeing how the 
windows become thereby soiled, have some 
narrow (say one and a half inch) slips of deal, 
planed down, just the width of the window. 
Let these be " bevelled" off on one side, and 
carefully adapted to the bottom of every pane 
of glass in the room, in a slanting position. 
By using this precaution, the birds will slide 
off, and they will soon find you are "just one 
too many for them." 

It will take your birds some little time to 
get into each other's ways ; but this they will 
do, eventually. Many will be the quarrels, 
disagreements, animosities, and battles ; but 
these time will terminate. War will gradually 
cease, and peace ultimately become pro- 

If any of your birds die, as fresh caught 
birds often do, replace them at the earliest 
moment. Never turn in many at once ; let 
one or two in, mysteriously, early in the 
morning. This will prevent any unusual 
fluttering, and the " wonder" at seeing a few 
new faces will gradually subside. 

Whenever you purchase a quantity of 
" flight" birds (already described), for stock, 
always place them, for a day or two, in a large 
cage, by themselves. It would be desirable 
to have two or three for this purpose. These 
birds are so excessively wild and impatient 
of confinement, that, if turned into the aviary 
immediately after being caught, they would 
not only dash frantically against the windows, 
thereby severely injuring their nervous system, 
but they would spread fearful consternation 
and bewilderment amongst the inhabitants. 
In such a case, the restoration of order would 
be difficult, and a work of much time. 

The soft-billed birds, when first purchased, 
must be kept quietly, in separate cages, for 
a fortnight at least after being " fed off." 
They may then be turned into the aviary, 
one at a time. Being insectivorous, food 
must be given them which assimilates as 
closely as possible with their natural diet — 
spiders, small red garden worms, meal-worms, 
earwigs, &c. These should be supplied only 
occasionally, just to keep the birds healthy ; 
they will, meantime, " take " to the general 
food, of which we are soon to speak more 

When the glorious sun streams into the 

aviary, and gilds the variegated colors of 
these little feathered beauties — their antics, 
frolics, and devotion to fun, can be but 
faintly imagined. The fountain, with its 
rippling stream ; the mirrors, with their truth- 
ful reflection and multiplying powers ; the 
harmonious concert of well-tuned voices — 
cause the inhabitants as much harmless plea- 
sure as was ever known by our first innocent 
parents in Paradise. 

Hard must be the heart of that man, or that 
woman, who could witness such scenes of 
happiness as these, without participating in 
the general enjoyment. For our own part, 
we care not to " fraternise " with such people. 

The " flight " birds, when first purchased, 
should be classified — linnets together, in one 
very large cage ; goldfinches in another of 
the same size ; and so on, with any others. 
The reason for placing them in large cages 
is, to prevent their soiling each other's plu- 
mage, while dashing about in their new 
prison. Every prisoner, when first confined, 
is so truly " unhappy in his mind," that it is 
in vain to attempt to soothe him. Grief, 
however, having exhausted itself, and Nature 
having at length induced an appetite for food, 
he becomes by degrees more reasonable, and 
finds discretion to be by far " the better part 
of valor." 

The "flight" birds, when fresh caught, 
must have a mixture thrown into the bottom 
of their cages of Canary, Flax, Rape, and 
bruised Hemp -seed — the floor being covered 
with dry, red gravelly sand. Their cages, for a 
few days, should be kept partially darkened ; 
and during this time the birds should be as 
little disturbed as possible. 

It is always desirable to keep newly-caught 
birds very scantily supplied with food, giving 
it them only at stated intervals. They then 
get accustomed to look for it. They must 
however have plenty of clean water at all 
times. By this mode of treatment, they will 
become reconciled to their fate. They should 
then be introduced into the commonwealth, 
one or two at a time ; early in the morning, 
and when the others are feeding. In Number 
VIII. ofthe present series of Papers, we recom- 
mended the introduciion of only one pair of 
birds — wagtails. We now bethink us of an 
almost unpardonable oversight in this matter 
— we mean with respect to not having recom- 
mended the addition of a pair of Java 
sparrows. They are so quiet, so innocent in 
their nature ; so totally different and retired 
in their habits from all other birds, and so 
hardy withal — that we again repeat, by all 
means try a pair of them. They are grani- 
vorous, but will eat freely of the universal 
mixture. We had a pair of Java sparrows 
in the aviary four years. Their symmetrical 
proportions were exquisitely beautiful. At 
the end of the fourth year the hen died ; the 



widower from that moment became incon- 
solable. His grief was lasting, and excessive. 
Such unusual constancy won our best sym- 
pathies. We procured another hen, equally 
beautiful ; and gave her the entree. Singular 
to relate, her ladyship intuitively seconded 
our views. My lord " proposed," at an early 
dav, and was u accepted ;" and the twain 
lived with us, in uninterrupted felicity, 
until they were devoured by the rats. The 
" habits " of this bird will hereafter receive 
ample notice. 

As the larger proportion of numbers will 
always be in favor of linnets and goldfinches, 
we need not say anything about the intro- 
duction of other kinds of birds. In this 
matter, everybody will of course consult his 
own particular fancy. It will be desirable, 
however, to confine new-comers of every sort 
for a day or two, in a separate cage ; they 
may then be turned in with the rest. 

It sometimes happens that a bird gets one 
of his legs injured, and he is thereby pre- 
vented rising on the wing, and seating him- 
self on a perch. To accommodate him in 
his sickness, let a perch be fixed across the 
skirting board at every corner of the aviary. 
On these he can hop, and on one of them he 
will roost at night. It is highly desirable 
for every bird to perch when at roost. They 
do so when in a state of Nature. It prevents 
their little feet becoming clogged with any 
foul matter, and they awaken refreshed by 
their night's rest. 

Sometimes, in the moulting season, when 
a bird does not moult " kindly, 1 ' there will 
be several " cripples " trotting about the 
floor, quite unable to soar aloft. Under such 
circumstances, you must place clean water 
within their reach, and plenty of food — the 
latter in as great a variety as possible. What 
this variety consists of we will discuss anon. 

We must here caution our readers against 
the sudden introduction of a lighted candle, 
into or near an aviary, at night. It has so 
alarming an effect upon the inmates, that 
they will precipitate themselves headlong 
from their perches, and fall about the room 
in an agony of fear. We have known many 
legs and wings to be broken in this manner, 
and have been obliged to sacrifice the lives 
of many of the sufferers by putting them to 
a premature death. The birds usually roost 
up aloft ; so that, wich only moderate care, 
the evil complained of can be remedied. 

Another terrible annoyance and cause of 
alarm to your birds, on moonlight nights par- 
ticularly, will be the cats. These most 
noxious vermin will, and do, always prowl 
about an aviary, assembling in numbers to try 
and procure a savory meal. Apropos to this 
subject. On one particular occasion, coming 
down early in the morning, we found a pane 
of glass in the aviary broken. There was a 

circular hole through it, made as if it had 
been " drilled." Round it was a quantity of 
grey hair, not human ; through it, something 
alive (also not human) had evidently passed. 
How many of our feathered family had es- 
caped through this aperture, we had no means 
of ascertaining ; but we heard many ill-sup- 
pressed whispers of some splendid mules and 
canaries having suddenly made their appear- 
ance in cages in the neighborhood, and of 
the welkin ringing with their song. 

It being an invariable rule with us to live 
" out of debt," we proceeded at once to dis- 
charge this last outstanding obligation. We 
were plainly indebted to one of the feline 
tribe for the unsolicited honor of " a visit." 
Too well-brednot to acknowledge the civility, 
at an early moment, we that same night pre- 
pared for the visitor a petit soiqier, dressed 
a la Soyer, the paragon of human excellence.* 
The cloth was laid for a dozen at least ; for 
we thought it probable that a " friend or 
two" might drop in. We were not " out" in 
this our calculation. Our polite neighbors, 
the cats, did arrive, and with good appetites; 
nor were they dainty. Partaking arte gout 
of all that we had provided for them, they 
cleared the course. No " remove " was 
needed ! Contrary to all good manners we 
must remark, the party, before breaking up, 
had actually licked their plates ! 

Next morning, there was a rumor that 
" fourteen cats had been mysteriously seized 
with sudden and alarming illness." " Is it 
pos-si-ble !" replied we to our informant, with 
the interesting gravity of a Janus. 

Two days subsequently — a most " remark- 
able " circumstance — we were apprised of the 
very same number of equally mysterious 
" deaths." A cat is now regarded in our 
parish as " a curiosity." Long may it con- 
tinue such ! We hate the race. 

* The carte, or hill of fare, was too choice not 
to he preserved. We have a " copy " of it, and 
it shall appear in a future chapter, under the head 
" Yerrnin." It should be, and no doubt will be, 
highly prized ; for many a recipe, of not one-quarter 
its value, is usually charged a guinea. 



We hate just received the "Naturalist," 
No. 24, whose able editor, Dr. Morris, brings 
under our notice from month to month a 
multitude of interesting facts. We have 
before said so much in praise of this period- 
ical, that anything further in that way would 
be detrop. We rather seek to prove its merit 
by offering from its vast stores one or two 
extracts. The first is from the pen of George 



Donaldson, Esq., and forms part of a curious 
article on 


In the month of June, says the writer, a few 
years age, when on a visit to Ailsa Craig, in the 
Frith of Clyde, a very young specimen of this bird 
was taken from a nest by my friend, Mr. Kemp, 
who accompanied me on that occasion. He 
shortly afterwards put it into his garden, in the 
neighborhood of the city, where it was for some 
time unable to provide for itself, during which he 
fed it upon various articles of a domestic nature, 
such as broken bread, potatoes, etc. In the course 
of a month afterwards, he was relieved of all his 
attentions by " Snow," as I named him, foraging 
for himself amongst the bushes and vegetables, 
where he fed on various caterpillars, slugs, flies, 
and beetles. He was constant in his attendance 
on Mr. Kemp while engaged in digging and trans- 
planting, and never failed to pick up every creep- 
ing thing which was turned up during the 
operation. He was particularly shy while 
strangers were present, and never in one instance 
would permit any familiarity, excepting with a 
small rough Scotch Terrier belonging to this gen- 
tleman, to which he was particularly attached ; 
for after pulling her by the tail (which she never 
appeared to relish), he would make up the matter 
by picking from off her rough mouth any particles 
of food which he found adhering there. He was 
exceedingly playful, and appeared to enjoy him- 
self amazingly by throwing up into the air any 
small bones or pieces of wood which he hail fallen 
in with, and always exhibited the greatest terror 
of either them, or any other object coming in con- 
tact with his legs. 

At the end of twelve months, his plumage cor- 
responded with that of other young birds, and 
when he was two years old, the change was very 
trifling. At this period, however, he acquired a 
taste for sparrows ; and scarcely a day passed 
on which he did not regale himself with four or 
five of them. His system of catching them was 
this : — He was upon the best terms with a 
number of pigeons which this gentleman had ; and 
as the sparrows fed along with them, he mixed in 
the group, and by stooping assumed as much as 
possible their appearance, and then set at the 
sparrow as a pointer dog would do his game ; the 
next instant he had his prey by the back, and 
swallowed it without giving it time to shut its 
eyes. The sporting season began with him about 
the middle of July, as the young birds were leaving 
their nests ; and as numbers of them were pro- 
duced in Mr. Kemp's garden, and others came to 
practise there, they found it very slippery ground, 
for the enemy was upon them in a moment. 

At the expiration of three years, his plumage 
was assuming a lighter shade, although the grey 
feathers on the under part of his body were quite 
apparent. He pursued his old system of snatching 
and swallowing with great success ; and arrived 
at so much perfection in the art, that he caught 
his prey often while flying past, and occasionally 
sprang from the ground, and struck a bird down 
with his wing, which he had no difficulty in after- 
wards capturing. 

On one occasion, while standing near a pump 
well in the garden, he pounced upon a rat, which 

had come there for the purpose of drinking ; it 
squeaked on being caught, and Mr. Kemp, who 
was standing close by, looked immediately around, 
and had scarcely time to see it suddenly disappear 
head foremost — a rule which he strictly observed, 
with both the living and the dead. How many 
thrushes, finches, and wagtails I supplied him 
with ! Mr. Kemp has little doubt that many rats 
were surprised in the same manner, as he fre- 
quently observed " Snow " sneaking 'about the 

His appearance during the act of running down 
the young birds amongst the bushes, was very 
animated : his neck was extended, his eye 
sparkled, and his body appeared compressed to 
half its usual size, which rendered his expression 
very different from the dozy-\ike appearance which 
he assumed while watching rats and old sparrows. 

At the end of the fourth year, he appeared to 
have completed his Toilet ; and although his 
garments at that time did not exhibit the hue 
which the deep blue sea imparts to them, still his 
appearance was very creditable, considering the 
narrow bounds to which he was restricted. 

In the preceding remarks, I have confined my- 
self entirely to his habits while in confinement ; 
for I presume his habits naturally are sufficiently 
known. Independent of his love for fish, he is a 
good judge of fowl, and much amusement I have 
had by witnessing him struggling through a 
legion of clamorous kittiwakes, stationed along 
the front of a precipice, which appeared to be 
taking satisfaction on him for having eaten up 
some of their families. 

This is quite a common occurrence, and I have 
little doubt that, when opportunity occurs, his 
young are for some time principally supported at 
the expense of this harmless and interesting com- 
munity ; for the young of both are produced about 
the same period. I think we are quite entitled to 
suppose that, from the great length of time which 
this- bird takes to arrive at maturity, he is long- 
lived ; although I am not aware that he has ever 
been allowed a place amongst the patriarchal races 
of swans, eagles, ravens, and pelicans, the ages 
of which are recorded from one hundred up to 
three hundred years ; and I am inclined to think 
that if " Snow " had not been unfortunately killed 
at the end of his sixth year, he might have lived 
to the age of " Ole Uncle Ned ! " 

I have been informed that the habits of 
(Larus fuscus), the Lesser Black-backed Gull, 
are equally rapacious ; but never having seen 
him, I feel inclined to give him the benefit of any 
doubt. As far as my experience goes, however, 
I am bound to acknowledge the Blue-back {L. 
Argentatas) a most distinguished cannibal, and 
superior to any other class amongst the fowls of 
the air. He gives no quarter, and consumes the 
unfortunate slowly within his interior — just as 
the court of chancery does with a great estate. 
This gull arrives at Ailsa Craig early in April, 
lays three eggs about the middle of May, and the 
young take wing about the 20th of July ; there is 
little difference in coloring or size between the 
eggs of this bird and those of the Lesser Black- 
back, and if any does exist, it is in those of the 
latter being occasionally found a shade darker. 

As the nidification of birds has of late created 
some little attention, it affords me an opportunity 



of describing in what manner these two birds 
begin their domestic arrangements for the season. 
They display no cunning whatever in selecting a 
situation for their nest, which consists of a variety 
of torn-up weeds and grasses, in place of the dried 
and brushy material usually collected by other 
birds for that purpose ; and the great majority of 
those which I have found have been quite ex- 
posed, and in many instances close beside detached 
fragments of rock, in situations closely approach- 
ing to table land. Necessity very frequently 
compels them to place their nests where neither 
pasturage nor any other kind of shelter affords 
them any protection ; but from this circumstance 
I do not consider that any rule ought to be laid 
down, as to the situations where these nests are 
to be found. 

The nest is a very comfortable one, of fair pro- 
portions, with a flat margin, which tbis bird has 
wisely contrived to enable him to get comfortably 
out and in : for the circular part of it, where the 
three eggs are deposited, is barely sufficient to 
contain them. I have frequently remarked the 
warmth which the egg so long retains after the 
gull has been scared from her nest ; and my as- 
tonishment was increased on shooting one of the 
birds to find, on separating the feathers on the 
under part of the breast and the body, a space 
about as great as the palm of the hand, completely 
divested of feathers, exhibiting a skin as fine as 
silk, and possessing an amount of animal heat 
which I never could have anticipated. 

I am perfectly aware that the practice of 
denuding themselves of the interior feathers of the 
breast, to assist in the process of incubation, is 
common, but how to account for this additional 
warmth is a difficulty ; for I have never before 
remarked anything to compare with it in other 
wild birds ; and if we could ascertain that the 
same temperature prevails in the swan and the 
pelican, it might necessarily lead us to suppose 
that such rapidity of circulation may tend to lon- 
gevity. It is quite out of my way to speculate 
on its term of life ; but as Cuvier has computed 
the age of a whale at one thousand years, might 
not Owen give us a comparative idea between the 
age of this bird and that of other birds whose span 
has already been ascertained. 

To furnish you with further evidence of the 
rapacity of the herring gull, my friend Mr. Kemp 
is in possession of one at the present moment, 
which we brought along with us from the island 
of Sanda, in the month of July, 1848 ; and as my 
absence from this country prevented me watching 
her as frequently and carefully as I did " Snow," 
I state to you on this gentleman's authority, that 
in the summer of 1851, he raised a brood of nine 
young decoy ducks, which he took especial care 
of by keeping them confined within an outhouse 
in his garden. At the expiration of a few days, 
he allowed them to get into the garden, when hor- 
rible to tell, " Susey," as he calls the gull, swal- 
lowed the whole clecldn ! The second brood 
which he raised consisted of five, four of which, 
during one forenoon, shared the same fate ; and 
the remaining one she gobbled too, just as Mr. 
Kemp had fitted up some wicker work for its pro- 
tection. This gull has never displayed the tact 
of the other one, and her performances in sparrow- 
catching have been upon rather a limited scale. 

Our second extract has reference to some 
very odd habits contracted by 


About seven years ago, says Mr. Henry Ferris, 
of Kingsdown, the narrator, at the residence of 
a relative of mine, in this city, a hedgehog was 
kept for the purpose of destroying slugs, snails, 
etc., in the long, narrow, walled garden behind 
the house. His usual haunt, during the sleepy 
hours of day, was either a wood-house, to which 
he had access, or the covert afforded by some ivy 
at the bottom of the garden. This hedgehog (as 
far as my memory serves me) differed in no remark- 
able manner from his spiny brethren, as far as 
external appearance was concerned ; and had it 
not been for one remarkable habit, might have 
long since passed from my memory. But, in order 
to give my readers a clear idea of what I am about 
to relate, I must briefly describe the garden. — It 
was, as I have said, like most town gardens, 
rather long and narrow, with a path down the 
middle. This path was flanked on each side by 
flower-beds alternately round and oblong, wit h 
luxuriant borders of cushion pink. Not long after 
Hodge had been naturalised in this retreat, a 
beaten path was found across one of the oblong 
beds, about four feet from the end; while the 
track of some animal was plainly visible on the 
path which went round the farther side of the 
circular bed, which came next it. This excited 
some surprise, but a little observation soon dis- 
covered the cause, though only to render the 
surprise greater. It was found that, as regularly 
as the evening set in, Hodge was to be seen 
running round and round, with a swift and 
steady pace, exactly in the track which he had 
beaten out, and never in any other. The oddity 
of the circumstance often drew spectators ; but 
for them he cared not a pin, if they only kept 
out of his way. I once had the pleasure of 
witnessing this nocturnal exercise. It was quite 
ludicrous to see his grave, steady air, as he 
emerged from under the cushion pinks of the 
circular bed, trotted up the middle path close 
under the border, came in full view as he 
crossed the oblong bed, and dived out of sight 
behind the opposite border, to appear again in 
a few moments. If uninterrupted, he generally 
kept on a good while without pausing. All who 
witnessed his circumambulations, were quite at a 
loss to give a satisfactory reason for them, though 
several (myself among the rest) puzzled over the 
subject a good deal. If it were merely for exercise, 
why choose that particular spot, and always keep 
to it ? and why should he strike out a path across 
the oblong bed, instead of keeping to that which 
went round the circular one? Be this as it may, 
the sport, if spoit it were, was kept up with com- 
mendable punctuality for some weeks, as long, I 
believe, as Hodge remained there. His object in 
running this eternal round still remains a mystery. 


As the Index tells us the contents of stories, 
and directs to the particular chapter; even so does 
the outward habit and superficial order of garments 
(in man or woman) give us a taste of the spirit, 
and demonstratively point (as it were a manual 
note from the margin) all the quality of the soul. 
— Massinger. 




As we are now wrtting the Natural 
History of this bird, it will not be out of 
place to record every pleasing trait in his 
character that may offer. 

"We have long labored hard to prove, that 
we ought all to take a lesson from the lower 
world. In every action, they speak to us ; 
their lives abound with hints that we 
should do well to take. We will now dwell 
only on the affection of the Blackbird for its 
young. Does it "put them out to nurse? 1 ' 
No ! Does it, as a favor, look at them now 
and then, and rest satisfied that all is going 
on well? No! Hearken, young and interest- 
ing mothers ! Take a lesson from the Black- 
bird's book : — 

The following account is given by Mr. Weir to 
Mr. Macgillivray, respecting the number of times 
in the clay which he watched a pair of Blackbirds 
feed their young, four in number. At a quarter- 
past three in the morning, they commenced ; from 
that time until four o'clock, the male fed them 
only once, and sang almost incessantly, whilst the 
female fed them six times ; from four to five o'clock, 
the male fed them six times, and the female three 
times ; from five to six o'clock, the male fed them 
four and the female five times ; from six to seven 
o'clock, the male fed them three, and the female 
five times ; and from seven to eight o'clock, the 
male fed them three times. For the last four 
hours he sang most delightfully, except when 
he was feeding the young birds ; and as he had 
induced one of them to fly out after him, Mr. Weir 
had to replace it in the nest, which caused some 
interruption to their feeding. From eight to nine 
o'clock, the male fed them six, and the female 
seven times ; and from nine to ten o'clock, the 
male fed them four and the female three times ; 
from ten to eleven o'clock, the male fed them three 
and the female two times ; from eleven to twelve 
o'clock, the male fed them two, and the female 
three times ; from twelve to one o'clock, the male 
fed them two, and the female four times. From two 
to three o'clock, the female fed them twice ; and 
from three to four o'clock, the male fed them three, 
and the female four times. From four to five 
o'clock, the male fed them three, and the female 
four times ; from five to six o'clock, the female 
fed them only twice ; and from six to seven 
o'clock, she fed them three times. In the evening 
the male was almost entirely engaged in singing, 
and from seven to eight o'clock, fed them only 
once, and the female six times ; and from eight 
to twenty minutes before nine o'clock, when they 
both ceased from their labors, the male fed them 
once, and the female seven times : the male still 
continued singing. Tims in the course of a single 
day, the male fed the young forty-four times, 
and the female sixty-nine times. 

While engaged in watching from his place of 
concealment, this pair of birds, Mr. Weir observed 
that before they fed their young, they always 
alighted upon a tree, and looked around them for 
a few seconds. Sometimes they brought sufficient 
food for the whole of their brood one by one, and 
at other times only enough for a single nestling. 

The young birds often trimmed their feathers, and 
stretched out their wings. 

On a wren accidentally coming so near as to 
detect the ambush, and giving a consequent note 
of alarm, all the birds in the neighborhood flocked 
around at once, to endeavor to discover the cause 
of it ; and the Blackbirds hopped round and round, 
and made every effort to penetrate the mystery, 
but at length gave up the attempt. One of the 
young birds having had the misfortune to be 
choked, the hen bird, on discovering the danger, 
set up a moan of distress. Her partner on hear- 
ing it instantly came to her assistance, and both 
made several attempts to dislodge the incubus, 
but for a time they were unsuccessful. At last 
the male bird most scientifically aided the process 
of deglutition ; though only just in time, for the 
young one was so much exhausted, that it remained 
nearly three hours without moving, and with its 
eyes shut. The cock bird having alighted on a 
tree a few yards from the nest, poured forth a 
volume of song expressive of joy at the happy re- 
sult of his endeavors. 

With the note of alarm, Mr. Weir adds, which 
any set up on the discovery of their enemies, all 
the different species of the little birds seem to be 
most instinctively acquainted ; for no sooner did a 
beast or a bird of prey make its appearance, than 
they seemed to be anxiously concerned about the 
safety of their family. From tree to tree they 
usually hopped, uttering their doleful lamentations. 
At one time, the Blackbirds were in an unusual 
state of excitement and terror — a prowling weasel 
having made its appearance ; and while the dan- 
ger threatened, the young birds, on their parents 
announcing it, cowered down in the nest, and 
appeared to be in great uneasiness. 

The above particulars are taken from the 
Rev. 0. Morris's " History of British 
Birds," Part 32, — a work which proceeds 
so well, and whose plates are so nicely co- 
lored, that no library can be complete with- 
out it. The price renders it accessible to 
the multitude. It is dedicated by permission, 
to our little Queen — God bless her ! How 
her tender heart must rejoice in the perusal 
of such anecdotes as these ! 

By the way, the " History of British But- 
terflies" and the " History of the Nests and 
Eggs of British Birds ;" both by the Rev. 0. 
Morris, and very beautifully illustrated ; pro- 
gress right well. We have received Part 13 
of the former, and Part 14 of the latter. 


11 Hast thou not observed, Doris, that thy 
future husband has lame feet ? " 

"Yes, papa," said she, " I have seen it ; but 
then he speaks to me so kindly, and so piously, 
that I seldom pay attention to his feet." 

11 Well, Doris ; but young women generally 
look at a man's figure." 

"I, too, papa," washer answer; "but Wilhelm 
pleases me just as he is. If he had straight feet, 
he icould not be Wilhelm Stilling — and how could 
I love him then? " 




The soft, the silver moonbeam ! 

How silently it falls 
Upon the time-rent battlement, 

And ivy-mantled walls ! 
And on the turret hoary, 

That proudly 'mid decay 
Still speakcth of a splendor dimmed, 

And glory passed away ! 

A placid smile it seemeth 

Upon a nigged face, 
Where age hath ploughed his furrows, 

And grief left many a trace ; 
A smile of resignation, 

Of hope, and calm content ; 
Triumphant over hot desires, 

And passions turbulent. 

The mild, the gentle moonbeam ! 

Upon the stream it sleeps ; 
Where o'er the gliding waters 

The pensile willow weeps ; 
E'en like a radiant spirit, 

With pinions snowy white, 
That maketh all its crystal couch 

A perfect flood of light. 

Amid the trembling alders, 

How soft the breezes sigh ! 
How bend with graceful motion 

The reeds that grow thereby ! 
What quietude prevaileth, 

Around, below, above; 
How filled is nature's mighty heart 

With peace and boundless love ! 

The kind, the pitying moonbeam ! 

How tenderly it steeps 
The green sod of the lone church-yard, 

Where oft the mourner weeps ! 
And round the couch of sickness, 

How noiselessly it steals, 
And to the sufferer's aching eyea 

Each object loved reveals ! 

E'en like a guardian angel, 

It watches by my tomb ; 
And softly smiles to dissipate 

The dreariness and gloom. 
E'en like a ministering spirit, 

It hovers round the bed ; 
And breathes of Him by whose command 

Its light abroad is shed. 

H. G. Adams. 


"I'll think on thee," love, when I pray 
At morning's dawn to God on high ; 

I'll think of thee at evening's grey, 

And breathe thy name with many a sigh. 

I'll think on thee, when midnight sleep 
Shall bid all thoughts but mine be free ; 

And if perchance, love, I should " weep," 
Still, tho' in tears, " I'll think on thee. 




England, dear England ! my heart is with thee, 
Land of the beautiful, happy, and free ! 
Thy bulwarks are mighty, thy warriors brave, 
And the right hand of power is ready to save. 
Thy meadows are fertile, thy forests abound ; 
The heart's dearest treasure in thee may be 

found ; 
A smile seems to cheer us wherever we roam, — 
Oh, why did I leave thee, — my bright, happy 


England, dear England ! my heart is with thee, 
My thoughts picture scenes fondly treasured by 

me ; 
In my day-dreams I wander again on thy shore, 
With the friends who perhaps I may never see 

The gay larks with food to their nestlings re- 
And the deer madly start from their wild bed 

of fern ; 
The busy mole burrows its nest in the loam, — 
Oh, fair are the joys of my bright, happy home ! 

England, dear England ! my heart is with thee ; 

Land of my birth, thou art dearest to me ! 

Nor absence, nor distance, my love shall destroy, 

Harbour of happiness ! haven of joy ! 

I have roam'd far from thee, o'er the deep bound- 
less seas, 

My sighs echo'd back with the light summer 
breeze ; 

And I pray'd as we fearlessly dash'd through tho 

I might yet live to see thee, — my bright, happy 
home ! 

England, dear England ! my heart is with thee ; 
Are there yet gentle ones who are mourning for 

My mother ! oh yes, there is care on her brow, 
And a bitter sigh rends her kind heart even now ; 
Oh, would I could cheer her ! but joy seems to be 
A stranger to those who are weeping for me. 
She prays God to bless me wherever I roam, 
And to guide me in peace to my bright, happy 


England, dear England ! my heart is with thee, 
My thoughts wander wildly across the deep sea ; 
'Midst the roar of the tempest, undaunted by 

The voice of my brother I listen to hear ; 
And I fancy my sweet sister leads mo again, 
To the dear little cottage that stands in the glen. 
But my pale cheek, now wet by the wild dashing 

Reminds me I'm far from my bright, happy 

home ! 


How beautiful are all the subdivisions of time 
— diversifying the dream of human life, as it 
n-lides away between earth and heaven ! 





In these beings so minute, and as it were 
Such non-entities, what wisdom is displayed! 
What power ! what unfathomable perfection ! 

MONGST the wonders of crea- 
tion, there is a large class of ani- 
mals whose very existence is 
unknown to the majority of 
mankind. Indeed most of them 
are so minute, that they can 
i only be seen with the help of a 
microscope ; and, had it not been for this in- 
valuable instrument, we should never have 
become acquainted with the tiny population 
of our globe. They are a world within a 
world. We now allude to those creatures 
called parasites, because they cling to and feed 
upon the bodies of other living creatures. 
They consist of a great number of species, 
and are of endless variety of form and struc- 
ture. Their food and habits are as diversi- 
fied as their places of habitation. These pa- 
rasites infest every animal, and every organ 
of the body. They are found thriving in lo- 
calities where no person would expect that 
they could live. They fatten uponjthe eyes, 
the blood, the gall, the bladder, the liver, the 
intestines, the kidneys, and all the muscles of 
the corporeal frame. They cast their grap- 
pling hooks in the mouth and jaws of the 
most voracious animals, and pursue the un- 
wearied operation of sucking their juices, in 
spite of all the whirlwinds and earthquakes 
that are going on around them. Nay, they 
even find entrance into the brain, and unce- 
remoniously take a seat upon the throne of 
sense and understanding. The operations of 
most of these parasites are unfelt and unper- 
ceived ; though there are larger and irritating 
ones, especially of the louse genus, which we 
shall not attempt to describe. 

Many of our readers will scarcely believe 
us, when we tell them that three hundred and 
sixty little worms have been taken out of a 
single eye of a perch. Each of these ani- 
mals had a perfect organisation ; having 
organs for taking and digesting its nourish- 
ment, and for propagating its species. This 
minuteness of the animal world will appear 
more extraordinary, when we add, that such 
parasites are themselves infested with animal- 
cules still more diminutive. A certain monad 
feeds upon them, as they do upon the juices 
of the perch's eye ; and perhaps these monads 
have their attendant leeches. But human 
curiosity has its limits ; and though the mi- 
croscope discloses wonders within wonders, 
yet it at length leaves us in the depth of our 
researches, amazed at what we have seen, and 
imagining what may still remain undiscovered 
beyond the curtain of sight. 

The structure of insect parasites is skil- 
fully adapted to the various situations in 
which they are placed ; some of which are 
very strange and hazardous. Another para- 
site which infests a different part of the fish 
to which we have already alluded, has been 
minutely described by Dr. Nordman. Some 
people have wonderful patience and tact for 
investigating the forms and habits of the crea- 
tures which people the microscopic world ; 
and they think themselves well repaid for 
their trouble, by the new exhibitions of crea- 
tive wisdom which they perceive in every new 
discovery. The doctor has made us acquaint- 
ed with a parasite which he denominates 
Actheres percarum, or, pest of the perches. It 
is a fresh-water insect ; but, instead of floating 
about in the liquid fields of nature, and enjoy- 
ing the free exercise of liberty, until engulfed 
by some superior of the finny tribe, it boldly 
enters the mouth of the perch, and extracts 
nutriment from the very masticating organs 
of this voracious fish. As the perch is noto- 
riously greedy, and often swallows its prey 
entire, the contortions and pressure of its 
mouth must sometimes be very great. Yet 
the Actheres hesitates not to attach itself to 
the palate, and even to the tongue, of this 
gormandiser. It therefore needs a very 
strong anchorage when it stations itself in 
the vortex of such aCharybdis. Nature has 
provided for this emergency. The Actheres 
is provided with two strong arms, proceeding 
from the base of its cephalothorax, or that 
part of the head which also serves for a neck ; 
and these taper, like the trunk of an elephant, 
till they unite in a single sucker. The crea- 
ture buries his organ so deep into the cellular 
membrane of the perch's mouth, that it can 
neither disengage itself, nor be extracted by 
foreign violence, without rupturing its arms. 
These arms are bent in a circle round the head, 
and in the same plane, just as if we should 
clasp our hands a little above our foreheads. 
The sucker, also, is placed in front. Hence 
the parasite lies with its whole body close to 
whatever part of the fish it may happen to fix 
upon, and is like a scale or small protuber- 
ance within its mouth. Still there would be 
a danger of the parasite being displaced by 
the violent gesticulations of the fish, or car- 
ried down with the food which it gorges. To 
prevent this catastrophe, and to keep itself as 
comfortable as possible, it throws out or 
raises a quantity of saliva, by which its back 
is well lubricated ; so that the perch's food 
passes over the flat and slippery surface, 
without inflicting any injury by the tempo- 
rary pressure. 

We suppose that this little creature never 
sleeps, or else it possesses the power of holding 
on during its slumbers. Its whole^occupa- 
tion and enjoyment consist of sucking, a 
work which must be continued when once 

Vol. HI.— 7. 



begun, for the instant it should let go its an- 
chorage, it would be hurried down the perch's 
fauces into the gulf of the stomach, and en- 
tombed in the food which is there exposed to j 
the action of the gastric juice. But the Ac- 
theres percarum is itself attacked by another 
parasite of more diminutive form ; a very 
small species of mite, called the Gamasus 
scabiculus, finds an opportunity of bleeding 
the bleeder, and preys upon its blood as it 
does upon that of the perch. The saliva, also, 
with which it is covered, becomes a sort of 
muddy pond, in which numbers of Infusoria 
of the tribe Vorticella, fatten and feed upon 
the back of the Actheres. The parasites are 
thus multiplied upon one another ; aud each 
species affords sustenance for others inferior 
to itself in the scale of being. The deeper 
we carry our researches into nature, the more 
does it seem to teem with living wonders ; and 
its population to increase, the more diminu- 
tive that they become. 

The next animalcule that we shall mention 
is the Pterojrtes, a species of bat-mite, which 
infests the wings of this night-loving bird. 
As this organ of flight is a large and naked 
membrane, it would appear almost imprac- 
ticable for an insect to fix itself so firmly 
upon the bare surface as not to be cast off by 
the violent flapping. But the creature is pe- 
culiarly constructed to meet this emergency. 
Its eight feet are furnished with vesicles 
which it can use as suckers, and firmly cling 
to the smoothest object. Like a ship in an 
open bay, sheltered from the ocean's waves, 
but not from the violence of the winds, which 
rides in safety by anchors thrown out from 
various quarters — so, thePteroptes fixes itself 
by as many of its feet as it deems necessary 
to its security. But lest any unwonted mo- 
tion or sudden jerking should drive it from 
its moorings, it possesses the singular power 
of instantly turning up as many of its legs as 
it pleases, and laying hold of the object which 
was previously above its head. It can walk 
in this inverted position as if upon its back. 
In seasons of great tumult, it may be seen 
with four legs upwards, ready to grasp either 
the ground or the roof of its strange dwelling. 
Such an organisation would be useless to a 
parasite which nestles amongst feathers or 
upon a downy skin; it is only available to a 
creature which lodges in the wrinkles of a 
bat's slippery wing. The dangers of its situ- 
ation are provided against by this unique ex- 

Another parasite which infests the same 
bird, has been termed the Bat-louse. The 
structure of this animal also is contrary to 
the usual process of nature. Its head is 
placed in the back of the thorax, behind the 
attachment of the four legs. There is a cavity 
in the back terminating in a kind of pouch, 
into which the creature throws back its head 

when it is going to feed, and continues in this 
position whilst engaged in suction. It 
therefore takes its food with the belly up- 
wards, and its head ensconced in the hole of 
its back ! But this little monster, if so it 
may be called, is furnished with an eye, and 
with antennae and feelers, so that it knows 
well what it is about, and where it is going. 
Its legs are not fixed, as is usual, in the lower 
part of the trunk, but in the upper margin, 
and its motion is so swift as to resemble 
flight rather than creeping. Whilst it is feed- 
ing, we might easily mistake the under for 
the upper part of its body, were it not for the 
form of its legs. It seems to have been made 
on purpose to show how manifold are the 
designs of the Creator, and what strange 
forms of being can be produced by his skill ; 
each complete in itself, and perfectly adapted 
to its particular sphere of action. It is this 
that renders an investigation into the secrets 
of natural history so satisfactory in the results, 
that we find every animal equipped with all 
necessary organs, and placed in a situation 
suitable for their exercise. This is the per- 
fection of a creature. 

Another parasite deserves special notice, 
from the singularity of its structure, as a dou- 
ble bodied animal. The Diplozoon inhabits 
the inner gills of the Bream fish. What tempt- 
ed a naturalist to look for anything in such 
a locality ? As the leaves of this organ are 
in constant motion, and a perpetual stream of 
water passes through them, we might imagine 
it to be a very insecure place for feeding. 
But the Diplozoon is provided with all the 
requisite tackling for such a station ; like a 
ship in a river, firmly moored to buoys fore 
and aft, and on either side, so that it rides 
safely in the same spot — whether the tide ebbs 
or flows, and whether the water is high or low. 
The Diplozoon has two bodies, united at 
their centres, leaving the upper and the un- 
der limbs free of each other. Being provided 
with a number of suckers from each half, it 
attaches itself at once to two leaves of the 
gills, with so firm a hold, that it is not moved 
by the constant motion of this slippery or- 
gan. Each of its upper limbs has a triangu- 
lar mouth, with a sucker to steady it in per- 
forming its operations. The organ of suction 
resembles a tongue, which appears to be in- 
cessantly in exercise. The alimentary canal 
of this wonderful creature branches into both 
its lower sides. The circulation of its blood 
is carried on through four principal channels, 
each half of the animal having an exterior 
and interior tube ; in the former of which the 
blood flows upwards, and in the latter down- 
wards, the circulation being performed with 
great force and rapidity. The generative 
organs are also double. The lower lobes 
always move in the same direction, but each 
of the upper arms seems to have a separate 



will and power of motion. When its suckers 
are examined by a strong magnifying glass, 
they are found to consist of very complex 
machinery, with hooks and stays, admirably 
adapted for hooking firmly to a proper 

It is supposed that these parasites are cre- 
ated not only for personal enjoyment, but for 
the good of the animals on which they feed 
A great part of them, including all the mi- 
croscopic species, pursue their avocations 
unknown to the creatures from whom they 
extract their nourishment. They cause no 
pain, or irritating sense of their presence. 
Perhaps there is a surplus quantity of juices 
produced through the taking of food, which 
requires to be thus disposed of; or, there 
may be some unwholesome particles which 
would injure the organs, or pollute the cir- 
culation, which it is the office of these para- 
sites to consume. Such a supposition, far 
from being extraordinary, is only analogous 
to other provisions of nature. Each of its 
departments has appropriate scavengers to 
devour the refuse of animal and vegetable 
substances. Birds, beasts, reptiles, fishes, 
and insects of various orders, perform this 
necessary work in the forest, the fields, the 
water, and in populous cities of the East. 
And why should there not be similar workers 
in the streets, lanes, and nooks of a living 
body ? When we consider the strange com- 
pounds that are swallowed, the delicacy of 
most of our organs, and the facility with 
which the capillary tubes would be hurt or 
impeded, we shall not wonder at nature's care 
in furnishing cohorts of invisible leeches to 
cleanse every part, and keep it from being 

Every creature has its use. The larger 
parasites, to which we only made a passing 
reference, and which breed in the feathers or 
woollen coats of various birds and beasts, are 
supposed to be of important service in clean- 
sing the roots of the hair from sundry im- 
purities which it is liable to contract ; and 
which, if allowed to remain undisturbed, 
might harden and seriously injure the pores 
of the skin. This may be the case even with 
those revolting creatures which infest the hu- 
man body when kept in an uncleanly condition ; 
and their presence is a warning that healthful 
ablutions have not been attended to. They 
are at once a bane and an antidote. We can 
easily understand such a position. An ani- 
mal may be repulsive, on account of its 
occupation, whilst its office is a dire necessity. 
Few persons would choose the employment 
of a chimney-sweeper, or a deporteur of of- 
fensive matter ; and, when in their dirty robes 
of office, they are naturally shunned by 
sensitive organs ; yet their labor is needful, 
and we could not dispense with their assist 
ance. So it is with some of those disagreeable 

creatures which nature employs to purify 
larger or smaller portions of the earth or its 
inhabitants. We instinctively repel them 
from us, without acknowledging the great 
obligations under which we lie to them for 
their ill-requited services. We import leeches 
from distant lands, and gladly avail ourselves 
of them to reduce an inflammation which is 
palpable to the senses ; whilst we feel no 
gratitude for that abundant provision of 
nature which supplies us with thousands of 
unseen bleeders, who cause us no annoyance 
whilst they pursue their unwearied task of 
preventing a plethora. But the regular and 
unperceived works of nature are far more 
wonderful and kind than extraordinary cures 
or flashy expedients. A sensitive imagi- 
nation may shrink from the idea of his body 
being a world sustaining a living population ; 
whilst he hesitates not to engulf hundreds of 
animalcules at every breath, and feels no re- 
pugnance at devouring scores of shrimps or 
oysters at a meal Why should we grudge some 
little superfluous juices to afford food and 
enjoyment to thousands of useful parasites? * 

* These particulars are gleaned from a most 
interesting periodical, entitled " Hogg's Instruc- 
tor," a copy of which has been forwarded to us for 
review. The work deserves a wide circulation ; 
it is published by Mr. James Hogg, of Edinburgh. 
—Ed. K. J. 


Many persons imagine that Lincolnshire is 
another term for "bogs" and " fens ; " and that 
these uninteresting features have no boundary 
within the county. We are sure that our 
drainage commissioners would repudiate the for- 
mer appellation ; and as to the latter, we are 
inclined to think that it should excite our grati- 
tude, as being synonymous with the best corn- 
producing soil in the country. 

In former times, the fens may have been a good 
thing in a bad place ; but so well is the water 
drained from the land, that even the bad place 
has become good. As an almost inevitable con- 
sequence, the latter quality or virtue has resulted 
in a double degree. 

Nature abounds with illustrations of " the 
nearness of extremes." That which produces the 
great amount of mortality in some of our large 
towns, is that which furnishes us best in producing 
food ; and that which formerly created ague and 
fever, is largely contributing to the formation of 
the staff of life. In place of stagnant mud-pools, 
we have the most thriving corn-fields. In place 
of dreary and idle waste, we have lands producing 
wealth that will rival the gold-produce of our 
antipodes ; and in place of disease and decrepi- 
tude, a population possessing soundness of body 
and mind that is the very personification of 
" good health." 

But the fens do not constitute so large a por- 
tion of Lincolnshire as is too generally supposed ; 



for nature has favored her with some of the most 
beautiful and diversified scenery. 

If the reader will accompany us in our summer 
rambles, it shall not be over the fenny district, 
where — 

Lands with dykes and drains, 

Conceal the view. 

It shall not be over a tract of country where we 
must watch our steps, as we value our lives ; and 
where, according to the thrilling narratives of 
nearly a bygone generation, many a man has 
found not only a muddy envelopment, but a muddy 

We will propose to start from any point on the 
circuitous line of country between the Little 
Bytham station of the Great Northern Railway, 
and the borough of Stamford ; or that between 
the latter place and Bourn ; then we will journey 
onwards until we arrive somewhere in the proxi- 
mity of Grimsthorpe Castle, the seat of the Right 
Hon. Lord Willoughby de Eresby. 

From the Little Bytham locality we should 
traverse almost entirely the beautiful Grimsthorpe 
estate, and our path would be surrounded by 
nature's best attire, with all the loveliness of 
woodland, pasture, and waving corn fields, to 
excite our admiration. From the neighborhood 
of Stamford, we should have the same beautiful 
diversity of country, but with perhaps more of 
the panoramic effect of hill and dale. From 
Bourn, should the weather permit, and strength 
be proportioned to the distance, we would on no 
account forego the walk through " the woods," 
as far as Edenham, possessing, as they do, in- 
creased charms, and an ample store of attraction 
for the lover of natural history. The woods will 
delight us with their fine and thickly-studded 
trees, and profusion of underwood ; struggling 
their way upwards through the thick mossy 
beds, and wreathing parasitic and other plants 
which are scattered with a profusion that will 
satisfy the desire of the most enthusiastic 

The numerous " drives," too, will enchant by 
the charming vistas they afford, and by the many 
wild flowers their plant-covered paths present. 
The feathered songsters also contribute their 
warbling to enhance the beauty of the woods ; and 
as we approach the brow of the hill, many of 
the hare tribe will give us opportunity to see 
them make a hasty retreat. Not even the kind 
treatment of a Cowper would induce them to give 
up so charming and luxurious an abode as they 

Should our excursion happen to "come off" 
on a sultry day, we promise the admirer of ento- 
mology such a display of the order Diptera, as 
would invite all the world to take specimens. 
But we have reached the boundary of woods, and 
the brow of the hill ; and with a frame somewhat 
exhausted, we shall instinctively pause to survey 
the wide prospect before us. Edenham, with its 
interesting church on an eminence, its browsing 
cattle on the verdant slopes, and its rapid and 
tortuous rivulet at our feet, bursts upon the view 
with delightful influence, but only to awaken still 
greater admiration at the charms more distant. 
There, placed in the midst of gentle undulations 
of country, and on a still higher eminence, is 
the fine and stately Castle of Grimsthorpe ; and 

seen as it is through the vista of majestic trees, 
the mind naturally blends admiration of nature 
with historical associations of the scene. 

As we wend our way beyond Edenham, the 
road presently becomes somewhat circuitous, and 
leads amidst nature profuse and wild, as if to 
make the contrast about to be presented to our 
view the more striking and impressive. " The 
Black Horse" inn, and its fine old tree with 
spreading branches, inviting the weary traveller 
to cool repose, is no sooner out of sight, than the 
attention is withdrawn towards a plain gateway, 
with (silent monitor to all idlers), " No admit- 
tance except on business, 11 inscribed thereon. 

This is Grimsthorpe Wood-yard, of which 
we will take a brief survey. Abundant evidence 
is afforded of the nature of the establishment, by 
the large quantities of prepared and refuse wood, 
piled, and scattered, on the premises ; and yet 
one is somewhat perplexed at the evident dispro- 
portion between the work accomplished, and 
workmen to accomplish it. Let us enter some 
sheds to the left, whence issue a buzz, and 
other indications of activity ; and our per- 
plexity will soon be converted into wonder- 
ment at the reality before us. Here is indeed 
the mainspring of operation ! Before us we 
have one of the most beautifully-constructed 
steam engines, with its bright metal bindings, 
and slender, colored body, performing an Hercu- 
lean work, stretching its bands and cranks — its 
sinew and muscle — to all parts of the establish- 
ment; tearing and sawing, trimming and cutting, 
grinding and sifting, with the full energy of its 
giant strength. Irrespective of size or age, the 
tender sapling and the sturdy oak alike yield to 
its efforts. Circular saws, horizontal and up- 
right saws, with fine teeth, and coarse teeth, are 
all performing their movements with wonder and 
precision, and with a power and facility which 
steam alone can accomplish. 

In one shed, into which the right strong 
limb of the leviathan " California" enters, is a 
corn-mill, grinding the grain, produce of the 
neighboring fields. To the extreme left we 
find stone-cutting machines, adding their mono- 
tonous tones to the din and discordant sounds of 
the operations around. Building stones, of the 
finest texture and great durability, quarried in 
the neighborhood too, are here undergoing the 
processes of grinding, cutting, and shaping, with 
a facility unknown to the slow and wearing toil 
of man. Nor are there serious deficiencies in 
the minor accessories to this industrial and 
mechanical workshop. Wherever the want is 
shewn, there is the mechanical organism devised 
and developed. The " California 11 has indeed 
grown into one huge monster of action, fearful 
to look at, but harmless in its operations — an em- 
blem of the peaceful arts of civilised society, and a 
great contributor to the comforts of life. 

Beautiful as was the country through which we 
had so recently passed, assuredly equally beautiful 
was the scene before us. The Creator is lovely in 
any isolated aspect of creation ; but far more lovely 
when we see features so harmoniously blended — 
nature linked to toil and ingenuity as a natural 
sequence. Grimsthorpe Wood-yard nestles, more- 
over, at the foot of Grimsthorpe Castle. How 
beautiful a sight it is, thus to see the workshop 



linked to the mansion — the dignity of labor to 
the dignity of rank ! 

Our return home found us musing on " Lincoln- 
shire as we saw it." Not indeed as bogs and fens, 
nor even as cultivated fields and pastures ; nor 
even as a country abounding with natural beauties 
alone. Something more than these is to be found ; 
and the poet must have his nature imbued with 
more than a feeling for the pastoral, to portray 
" Lincolnshire as it now is." j^ g 

Rippingale, Feb. 20. 


{Continued from page 34.) 

In my country, Mr. Editor, it is generally 
during the month of August that the most violent 
storms occur. Frequently, and in an incredibly 
short space of time, they blight all the hopes of the 
poor gardener, and totally ruin the unfortunate 
" vigneron ;" the former depending for his very 
existence on the produce of his garden, and the 
latter on the " vendange." The latter, however, 
is in a much worse position than the former, 
whenever one of these desolating storms happens ; 
inasmuch as all the returns for the whole twelve- 
month's labor (just now within his grasp) are 
totally destroyed. 

The mischief done by the breaking up of roads, 
knocking down of walls, rooting up of trees, the 
loss of life, both to man and dog. is perfectly fear- 
ful. Even the recollection of the storm I am now 
going to endeavor to describe, makes me tremble 
and shudder all over. It was the most destruc- 
tive I ever witnessed. May I never witness such 
another ! It was about the middle of August, 
1846. For several days previous, there had been 
that tremendous burning heat, that overpower- 
ing, oppressive heat, which quite knocks a dog 
down, as well as a man ; scarcely a gleam of sun- 
shine ; but a murky, heavy vapor was gradually 
increasing in intensity between " Morges" and 
" Ouchy." My old master, and his family, (in- 
cluding myself, of course, Mr. Editor,) got a little 
invigorated by disporting our pretty persons for 
the best part of an hour in " Leman's" refreshing 
waters. Cool, I could not call them ; for even 
they were tolerably warm ! Still, our morning 
bath used to brace us up for the remainder of 
the day. 

On the morning of the storm, it was evident 
that something out of the usual way was coming. 
The air seemed impregnated with a peculiar 
smell, and the heat was so intense that there was 
no standing it, or even swimming it ; and I and 
my brother lay panting under the shade of a large 
laurel bush. Bombyx, lightened of his coat, 
seated himself under a fine sycamore, puffing his 
cigar, and watching — first the " Dent d'Oche," 
then the " Jura." The other branches of the 
family were some of them watching the down 
" steamer ; " others the gulls. The " Dent 
d'Oche" looked good-tempered enough, but the 
" Jura" frowned tremendously, and the darkness 
increased rapidly. About three o'clock the lake 
began to be agitated, and the beautiful " Moutons" 
appeared everywhere on its surface. 

Shortly afterwards there was a cry of " Le 
lac brasse !" by the old gardener, a weather- 
beaten, honest, old man, by name " Louis." Pre- 
sently, again comes Louis ; "Le lac brasse pro- 
digeusement ! de ma vie, je n'ai jamais vu le 
pareil. I fear we shall have a very bad night 
of it." 

At about six o'clock the waves of the Lake 
were perfectly furious ; lashing against the walls 
and the shore in a most alarming manner. It 
seemed as if old Father Ocean, in one of his rages, 
had paid a visit to " Leman's" generally gentle 
waters. The roar of the waves was perfectly ter- 
rific, and the steamer from "Geneva" had the 
good sense to stop at "Morges." Now a few 
drops of rain fell ; and occasionally a flash of 
lightning made a jump from the "Jura" which 
was quickly responded to from behind " les 
voirons." Again the "Jura" discharged, and was 
answered instanter by the " Mole," followed by a 
volley from the " Roche d'Enfer," which was per- 
fectly awful. At 8 o'clock, everything except the 
lake was more quiet. "Well ; all was closed, and 
old Louis went around to see every thing right 
and tight, observing, "Ma foi! Je n'aime pas 
trop le lac ce soir." 

Bombyx had finished his supper, and some of 
the youngest girls had gone to r^ost, when precisely 
at twenty minutes past nine o'clock began a 
scene 60 terrific, so fearfully majestic, so over- 
powering, I scarcely knew what I did. Both my- 
self and my brother were running up and down 
stairs from the kitchen to the drawing-room, 
howling like mad. I half thought nothing would 
save us from destruction. Precisely at the time 
I have mentioned, a most awful clap of thunder 
was heard. It was just as if a " Piece de douze" 
bad been discharged in the next room. Every 
one sprang up. half frightened. The door was 
opened, but nothing seen. The next minute, a 
flash of the most vivid lightning crossed the 
window-shutter. Instantaneously, another simi- 
larly alarming clap of thunder. This was followed 
by another and another, in awful rapidity. We 
scarcely knew which way to move. The little 
girls were brought out of bed ; and dressed, to be 
ready, in case of fire, to escape. In a few minutes 
we ventured to peep out. The rain — (no, I 
really cannot call it rain, Mr. Editor, it was more 
like a river of liquid fire) — was descendng like an 
avalanche, so fearfully were the rain and light- 
ning mixed ! The smallest leaf also was visible 
at a very considerable distance. 

At this time, too, the screaming of birds, the 
moaning of cattle, and the howling of less for- 
tunate dogs than myself, who happened to be 
chained up, added painfully and pitiably to 
the scene ; and, mingled with the roaring of the 
lake, the rolling of the thunder, and the 
hissing of the lightning, were most distressingly 
dreadful. In another few minutes a mighty 
rushing wind, blowing in wild confusion from 
every quarter at once, increased the hideous- 
ness of the moment. Presently a sound was 
heard as of the falling of large stones ; and on 
looking out to ascertain what this could be, hail- 
stones (the greater part as large as a hen'6 egg), 
were bounding about in every direction, form- 
ing a " melange" which only those who have 
witnessed it can conceive. 



There was a strange difference also in the 
color and appearance of the lightning. Some 
was like an immense sheet of living flame, 
spreading in every direction. Then, most fear- 
ful blue forked lightning was incessantly dancing 
on the summits of the mountains; and would 
every now and then leap into the middle of the 
lake. The next moment, a semicircle of fire 
would spring from behind the Alps or the 
Jura, of a lovely pale carmine. The lake itself 
had the appearance of molten brass, and seemed 
by the roaring of its waters as though it waa 
striving to drown the awful sound of the 
thunder. The enormous hail-stones (of which I 
had several in my own paw), dashing on the 
tops of the houses, and against the outside 
shutters, completed the horrors of a storm, 
which, providentially, was ordained by its great 
Author to last only forty minutes. 

At ten o'clock all was comparatively quiet; 
and at eleven we thought we could safely retire, 
and so we did. But neither I nor my brother 
slept a wink all night. But now let me de- 
scribe the ravages of this storm. 

" After a storm comes a calm," as I have 
heard my old master say. But, alas ! what a 
calm ! Before five o'clock on the morning fol- 
lowing this terrible storm, we were most of us 
in motion, to see if any, and what mischief, had 
been done. It was as lovely a morning as ever 
broke forth. The summit of the " Dent d'Oche" 
was already gladdened by the cheering rays 
of old "Sol." The "Mole," and the " Voirons," 
were as clear as they had been yesterday obscure. 

'i he '' Jura " smiled in all its verdant beauty; 
and even the " Roche d'Enfer" itself was all 
loveliness. The lake had resumed its usual 
placidity, but not yet its deep blue. The waters 
were turbid, and mud-colored. All nature seemed 
a contrast to the vast desolation caused by the 
storm of forty minutes' duration. The first thing, 
on opening the front door, we missed two-thirds 
of a magnificent willow, that had proudly 
towered, in all probability, nearly a century over 
the entrance gate to our residence. The im- 
mense trunk, and a few branches only, remained. 
The remainder stopped up the road, now con- 
verted into a river of muddy water ; having been 
completely split off by the violence of the 

Before I proceed any further, I must mention 
that this storm had been accompanied by a 
tremendous " Trombe," which begun at St. 
11 Sulpice," passed northward to " Ecublens," then 
easterly to "Tidy," then as far as the north 
of Lausanne ; from thence it took a south-east 
direction, as far as " Paudex." Here its violence 
appears to have been exhausted. It had, how- 
ever, been most wofully destructive all along 
its passage. Looking towards the garden, Ave 
saw the farmer crossing the lawn with a market 
basket. Oh, Mr. Editor, it would have made 
your heart bleed to see it ! The basket con- 
tained ninety -three sweet little birds, picked up 
underneath one immense horse-chestnut tree, 
where the poor dear creatures had gone to rest. 
They were killed, doubtless, by the hail-stones. 
Bombyx, I am sure, picked up as many more 
pretty little lifeless warblers, in different parts of 
the garden — if garden it could now be called. 

The paths, it is time, remained ; but they were 
scarcely passable. As for vegetables, it was all 
one vast mash. Cabbages, turnips, celery, 
carrots, cauliflowers, cucumbers, &c. — all were in 
one podge together. No means had we of dis- 
tinguishing one from the other. It had the ap- 
pearance of one vast carpeting of hashed 
spinach. We now looked over the wall to our 
neighbor's garden. There they were, with boats, 
endeavoring to release the poor cattle from 
their perilous position. The poor beasts were 
standing breast high in water. The country 
house of "La Caroline" had every thing smashed 
in the same way, and the vines were totally 
destroyed. A little lower down, towards " Vidy, ' 
is the residence of an immensely rich old miser. 
Here the vines were carried into the road, every 
thing destroyed, and the garden one complete 
ruin. The sorrow of the old gentleman was 
not completed quite. His luxuriant orchard was 
a perfect wreck — himself obliged to escape out 
of his house by means of a ladder applied to 
his bedroom window. The lower part of his 
house was full of water, and the tubs of wine 
were floating about in his capacious cellar. 
Many of the best casks struck with such violence 
against each other, that they burst ; and made 
(I am told,) an excellent cellar-full of delicious 
wine-and-water ! Well, Mr. Editor, I never 
heard a word of pity or regret on his account. 
So much for being a miser ! 

Every country-house on the line of the storm 
was more or less injured, and the gardens and 
vines were totally done for. Thos e which hap- 
pened to be on sloping land were washed clean 
into the road, and all huddled together. I need 
scarcely say that eveiy green-house was terribly 
injured. The most extraordinary destruction, 
however, was between " Lausanne" and " Ouchy." 
The high road was hollowed out into a complete 
river, about four feet deep, by four to five feet 
wide. Large kerb-stones were torn up bodily, and 
thrown to a considerable distance. The gas- 
pipes were forcibly rooted out. No communica- 
tion between " Ouchy" and "Lausanne" (except 
by pedestrians), was possible. At " Ouchy," the 
water was so high, that the steamer might have 
landed its passengers on the steps of the "Hotel 
de l'Ancre." Vast stone walls were smashed 
down as though they had been made of card. A 
massive wall, " derriere les Terreaux," in the 
town, was forced into the street. There was no 
communication between the upper and lower parts 
of the town through the accustomed channel — 
the " Place du Pont" being a little lake, and all 
" Messagers" from the " Hotel de Ville," " Gens 
d'Armes," &c, &c, had to go round by the New 
Bridge. The " Eoute dTtalie," by the " Mousse- 
quines," was nearly as bad as the road to Ouchy. 
Several fine walnut trees at " Vidy" were rooted 
up ; and one poor gardener, of the name of 
" Joseph," was sadly put out. A splendid green- 
gage tree, full of luscious fruit, and on which he 
had reckoned for no small profit, was taken up as 
clean as a whistle, and deposited some distance 
off. Frere Jean, too, missed some enormous 
" courges" from his garden ; " derriere Marthe- 
ray," which he found afterwards, and translated 
to the " Campagne Villamont." 

In the cellars of the wine proprietors in t" e 



town, the casks of wine were floating about in 
all directions ; and the fire engines were at work, 
pumping out the water. Meantime, many of the 
men were pumping the wine out of the bins after 
their own fashion, neither waiting for glasses, nor 
wishing to call for any. They contented them- 
selves drinking " a la Vigne," and I could see by 
their merry faces they had not chosen the worst 
wine ! 

I do not approve this cruel act of dishonesty, 
Mr. Editor; I merely say what I saw. Many 
people were totally ruined in these sad forty 
minutes ; and doubtless many thousands are now 
alive, who remember the storm of August, 1846. 
Only one human life was sacrificed ; but on the 
occasion of a similar, though much less violent 
catastrophe at Vevay, about ten days afterwards, 
no fewer than seven individuals perished. 
— Au revoir. Your affectionate friend, 

Tottenham, Feb. 20th, 1853. 




Of all the vast class of human creatures 
who are doomed to diurnal weariness — to know 
the bitterness of " the labor that is done under 
the sun," — there are none that I can more feel- 
ingly sympathise with than the daily wayfarers ; 
especially at this particular season of shortened 
days, frequent storms, and intense cold. I do 
not mean the wealthy, the lazy, and luxurious 
viatores that, in carriage, or on steed, traverse 
the king's highways, in great bodily comfort ; and, 
after a few hours' career, alight in elegant homes 
or well-garnished inns, and stretching themselves 
at their ease, with every requisite of viand, wine, 
and feather-bed at command, 

Think themselves great travellers, 
Invincible and bold ; 

but I mean all those who, being of the poor, are 
u never to cease from the land ;" and who, 
whether we be seated at our tables, circling our 
fires in social mirth, or quietly laid in our beds, 
we may be sure are scattered in a thousand 
places on our great roads — be it summer or win- 
ter, day or night, as plodding, as full of trouble, 
as weary, and as picturesque as ever. 

Poor honest souls ! their very misery, their age, 
their poverty, their ruggedness, their stooping 
figures, and ragged array, make pleasant pictures 
to the eye ; and if not for their suffering humanity, 
yet for the variety they give to our journeyings, 
we ought to spare them a little sympathy. I 
must confess, that when I have been shut up in 
a great town for some months, and again issuing 
into the country, behold the same figures, the 
same groups, come streaming along our principal 
roads, that we have encountered there through all 
the days of our lives — and that Bewick has de- 
picted in his living sketches, I have a most inter- 
nal satisfaction in the inexhaustible vagabonds ! 

There is one class of them that I freely give 
up although the rogues have a spice of romance 
about them ; I mean the vagabonds par excellence 
— those clever, able, and eloquent fellows, that 
can lose a limb or even an eye at will ; sailors 

who never saw the sea ; decayed tradesmen who 
never had a groat honestly acquired; men of 
fictitious miseries, who are most at home on the 
road or in the lodging-house, and who live upon 
the pity of the simple ; for them I ask no 

Then there are those little, nomadic merchants, 
that from every large town diverge in all direc- 
tions, and penetrate to every village and lonely 
house with their wares. There is the chair-bottom- 
er, with his great sheaf of rushes on his back, 
who, seated on the sunny side of the farm-door, 
or under the shade of a tree, as the season may 
require, enriches the good people with news worth 
more than his work. There is the wandering 
milliner, an old woman of the true picturesque 
school — short, broad, plentiful in her own attire of 
coat, apron, and petticoats, with her strong staff 
in her hand, her spacious, weather-beaten face, 
and a great cage-like basket of open wicker-work 
on her back, large enough to hold herself : — and 
beside these, sundry bearers of shallow baskets of 
tapes, braces, laces, pins, cotton-balls, and so 
forth. These, and occasionally the Highland 
drovers, with their plaids and dogs, and flocks and 
herds, bringing with them the wildness of their 
native moors, are all very well in their way — they 
look well ; but they are the casual wayfarers, 
about whom gathers the deepest interest. 

Of all the melancholy spectacles which every- 
day life presents, what is more melancholy than 
the marching of a troop of recruits out of the 
town where they have been raised ? You hear a 
single drum beat, a single fife play ; you see a 
crowd collected, and another minute discovers 
to you some twenty or thirty boys and men of the 
lowest class, in their common clothes ; with ribands 
in their hats, and bundles in their hands, awk- 
wardly commencing that march which leads to 
destruction. They have screwed up their resolu- 
tions to the point of the necessary calmness of 
aspect ; they have bid good-by to their friends, 
with w horn they are ambitious of leaving the re- 
putation of having gone off stoutly ; some of their 
sweethearts, with red eyes, are hovering about ; 
many of their comrades are going on a little with 
them, and, perhaps, some fond and heart-broken 
mother still clings tenaciously, but dejectedly, to 
the side of her son, who has cost her nothing but 
sorrow since he could run from her door. They 
proceed a mile or two ; the fife and drum fall 
back ; the last shaking of hands and shedding of 
tears arrives, and they are led away to their dis- 
tant station. The scene is sad enough ; but if 
we look forward, what is the prospect ? Loose 
lives at home, hard marches and fare abroad ; 
death in some pestilent Indian swamp, or in the 
regular wholesale carnage of battle. 

Yet, probably, some of these self-same youths 
shall tread the highways of England in various 
characters and stages of their career. One shall 
come upon you as the deserter. There he marches 
sullenly along, between two files of his fellow-sol- 
diers with shouldered muskets ; instant death his 
fate if he attempt to escape ; disgrace, corporal 
punishment, death itself, perhaps, equally certain, 
if he do not. He has found a soldier's life a 
weary one. He has cast away his oath and his 
service, and sought, in manifold disguises, and in 
many a strange lurking-place, concealment from 



pursuit ; but he has been dogged and detected ; 
and on he goes with a heart full of sullen wrath 
and fearful apprehension. 

Behold another and a happier ! he is marching 
homeward on his furlough. He has fought bat- 
tles and seen foreign lands since he left home ; 
and he now goes thither with an honest vanity 
to boast of his sights seen and exploits done, 
and to set on fire a dozen young heads with a 
luckless ambition. Poor fellow ! happy as he 
thinks himself, he is horribly weary and wayworn, 
and longs, with a most earnest longing, for the 
far-off town. 

A third shall come home some thirty years 
hence, the old veteran ; the hard, grey-headed, 
mutilated remnant of a man, with one arm, one 
leg, a body seamed with scars, a crown never the 
better for the blows it has borne, and a pension 
of a few shillings a-week to get drunk upon. He 
goes home to discover that death has been as 
busy there as in the battle-field, in the Walcheren 
morass, or the plague-haunted garrison ; and to 
find it, even with his pension, but weary work 
waiting for the grave. 

But alas ! for the poor creatures I am now 
bound to sketch. Had fortune but been tolerably 
moderate with them, they would never have gone 
ten miles from the spot in which they were bcrn; 
but some sudden distress arouses them from their 
regular dream of existence, and they start across 
the country to its farthest extremity with the 
wildness of comets. 

Look at that middle-aged, old-fashioned fellow! 
Do you not see the cause of his journey at once ? 
He is a laborer ; his eldest daughter, a girl of 
seventeen, is gone to live in the family of some 
relation of the Squire's, forty miles off. He has 
just heard news that has alarmed him. His wife 
and he have sat in speechless grief and con- 
sternation for a space, till the good woman cried 
out, "John, you must up and go ! you must see 
Mary. You must learn the whole truth. She 
was always a good girl, and we must not have 
her lost." For a moment, the very idea of the 
journey, and the encountering of fine folk, and 
clever folk to boot — as he wisely imagines all fine 
folk to be, overcomes him with a weakness ; but 
the thought of his daughter's danger returns with 
double power ; he gets up with a groan, and 
prepares for his great journey. Look at his long 
drab coat, of a most antiquated cut ! See how 
neatly it has been brushed ! How clean he is 
shaven, how nicely his white cravat is tied, and 
with what a formal air he puts his stick to the 
ground ! There has been a world of preparation 
to set him out : not even the great trouble which 
rests upon his rnind can make him forget that he 
is in his Sunday clothes ; and he walks on his 
way, a creature of such simplicity, that he seems 
far likelier to be duped himself than to prevent 
another being so. 

Observe now this solitary woman. For ten 
years she has lived in the closest court of the 
closest alley of a great manufacturing town. Her 
husband, a clever mechanic, has been earning 
plenty of money, and plenty of children have grown 
around them. The good creature, in the abun- 
dance of her household affairs, has been so happy 
that she has almost forgotten that there is a 
world out of her own house. But there has come 

a change. Her husband's employment has failed, 
and he has gone forth to seek it elsewhere. For 
a time, she hears good news ; he sends her money 
and hopes of prosperity, though in a distant place. 
At length his remittances fail — his letters cease 
— she is alarmed — she musters all her skill at 
penmanship and writes, but gets no reply. Her 
children want bread ; she is reduced to the 
utmost distress ; but, suddenly summoning all her 
energies, she seeks and finds employment, and 
manages to live. But of her husband no tidings ; 
day and night she lives in fear and sorrow — he 
must be dead, or he would certainly write. At 
length, however, comes the intelligence that he 
has chosen another, and is expending upon her 
the gains which should tup^ort his family. Stung 
to the quick, she rises up in grief and indignation. 
She finds some good neighbor to care for her 
children for a few days, and she departs — alas ! 
on a melancholy expedition ! She is utterly 
strange to the world — no matter ; she has little 
money — no matter ; in the greatness of her 
vexation she defies all other troubles and diffi- 
culties. See with what closeness and self-reser- 
vation she moves on ! She greets no one — she 
shuns all greetings by the way, or if she answers 
them, it is only by a short, sharp nod, and she 
involuntarily quickens her pace. Rest, food, 
she seems not to require ; her heart is filled with 
black and eager jealousies, and she shrinks even 
from the kindliest eye, lest it look into the secret 
of her soul. Poor, unhappy woman ! her task is 
a fruitless one. She may find her faithless hus- 
band, and may weep, and expostulate, and 
upbraid ; but the heart that is once led from its 
home by strange charms, there is faint hope of 

How far more enviable is the woman that 1 
have now in my eye ! I see her crossing the 
heath, a little, broad-built woman, in an old grey 
cloak, beneath which she carries in her arms an 
infant ; and a troop of others, one scarcely appear- 
ing older than another, trot after her. She has 
lost her husband by death, and suddenly finds 
herself alone, far from friends. She has spirit 
enough to scorn the assistance of the parish ; she 
sets out, and trusts to Providence. Grief certainly 
has made but little impression on her countenance ; 
and her children know nothing of it. They know 
not what it means to be orphans ; they know not 
that they are poor ; they follow their slowly-pro- 
gressing mother from place to place, like playful 
kids ; and when she sits down in some solitary 
nook, they gambol before her. They enjoy the 
sun and air ; they are plump and ruddy ; and 
though they ask for nothing, their looks beg for 
them, and scarcely a carriage passes but money 
flies for them out of the window. 

Not so with the last being whom I shall notice. 
This is a widow, old and poor. For years she 
has lived alone, with not a tie to the world but 
her anxiety for a prodigal son, whose life has long 
threatened to prove her death. And now that 
she has become thin and feeble, and expects no 
journey except the short one to the neighboring 
churchyard, conies an epistle from her son, written 
by a stranger-hand, to say that he is dying in a 
far-distant place, and implores her pardon and 
1 lessing. Oh, maternal love ! how strong art 
thou, even in the very weakness of nature and the 



extremity of old age ! It is seventy miles off 
where her son now lies, but she thinks of nothing 
less than going to him. Not go ! — not try to see 
him, and to comfort him, and to know exactly 
how his mind is at the last ! By the help of God 
she will, though ! — and early on the following 
morning, her little solitary house is shut up — 
door and window-shutter carefully closed ; and, 
with her key in her pocket, and with her red cloak 
and black bonnet on, she is setting out. The 
neighbors come out in wondering kindness to bid 
her good-by ; but there is more offence to her in 
their remarks on her son, than comfort in the ex- 
pression of their pity ; and she moves quietly away. 
And that poor old creature is bound on a journey 
of seventy miles across the country, and without 
the expectation of an hour's carriage ! She takes 
no stick in her hand, for she never used one ; but, 
with her arms crossed under her cloak, she pro- 
ceeds at the same feeble pace that she has been 
accustomed to move about her cottage. It seems 
impossible that she should ever accomplish her 
undertaking. My imagination beholds her as 6he 
crosses a vast moor. On and on she goes with 
such an almost imperceptible motion, that the 
very width of the moor appears itself a day's 
labor for her. Yet she shall go forward, day by 
day, and, unlike the deserted wife, she shuns no 
salutations ; nay, to such accommodating persons 
as are willing to slacken their speed and lend a 
patient ear, she can find many things in her 
mother's heart to say. Her troubles, like the fire- 
damp, are only dangerous when they are confined 
— give them air, and they will dilute themselves 
till they become almost innocuous. Life has long 
ceased to appear desirable in her eyes ; and if that 
her son but find acceptance with God, it is all 
that she desires. Nay, if she be permitted to reach 
him while alive, and to know that he departs with 
" a sure and joyful hope," she will tread back her 
weary way with a comparatively happy heart, 
and sit down again,for a little time, by her cottage- 
fire in peace and thankfulness. God be with her ! 
When to these we add the weary wanderers the 
world over — the shipwrecked crew, making their 
way through some 6trange land ; the solitary 
travellers in the savage deserts of the earth ; the 
worn-down remnants of discomfited armies ; the 
captive driven in fetters to the distant mart, or, 
escaped from thraldom, flying by night, and 
lurking by day, from the fury of his pursuers, 
filled with fears, and faint with famine — we have 
summoned up images of earthly woe so immense, 
that we are constrained, with a feeling of agonised 
energy, to cast the care of them upon Heaven, 
and to grasp eagerly at the only comfortable 
thought, that they are all in the hand of God ! 

William Howitt. 




As March is a variable month, and sometimes 
"blows hot and cold," we must narrowly watch 
his manoeuvres, and guard against surprise. Cold 
winds may be looked for ; if not looked for, they 
will come ! 

The subjoined remarks on the routine of duties 
connected with a flower-garden in March, are 
from "Edwards' Garden Almanack," a little tome 
full of useful information, and which we have 
pleasure in recommending to our readers' notice. 
Of course the writer's remarks are general. The 
weather must, in all cases, decide the particular 
mode of action to be pursued. Whilst frost 
prevails, plants of course must not be watered ; 
nor must a few passing rays of the glorious sun 
induce the owner of choice plants to trust them 
too long in the open air. "Mistakes " of this kind 
kill many flowers, and as many choice birds. 

Annuals. — Continue to sow the hardy sorts in 

Antirrhinums. — Cuttings of any that it is desirable 
to increase may now be taken, they will 
readily strikean a moderately hot frame, and 
furnish a succession of flowers to the early 
potted or planting out stuff. 

Auriculas. — Increase the amount of water, it will 
be needed by the rapid growths observable 
at this time. It will be interesting to select 
the plants whose trusses display pips in suf- 
ficient numbers for exhibition ; and these 
being selected, may receive an increased 
amount of attention and care. By no means 
keep from a full share of air ; robustness 
and vigor are only obtained and maintained 
by its free play amongst the plants. 

Bedding plants that have been kept in pots, in 
frames, &c, may now be potted on and pre- 
pared for turning out. 

Borders need raking down, cleaning, &c. 

Box edgings may be planted, if omitted in 

Bulbs. — A larger supply will now be at command ; 
those kept in their cold quarters will be 
rapidly progressing. 

Calceolarias. — Re-pot into 6-inch pots with 
plenty of drainage ; keep close for a few days. 

Camellias will be fast going out of flower ; en- 
courage growths by all available means. 

Carnations will require considerable care and 
protection from cold, cutting winds; those 
vigorous may receive additional supplies of 

Chrysanthemums. — Pot into 48 's or 32 's towards 
the end of the month, and place them where 
they will be sheltered from strong easterly 
winds, taking care they are not so much 
sheltered, or placed so close together, as to 
cause weak growth. 

Cinerarias. — Weak manure water given occasion- 
ally, will now be beneficial. 

Cuttings may be taken of bedding-out plants, and 
struck in hot- house or frame. 

Dahlias. — Take off the shoots when with three 
pairs of leaves, and place round the edge of 
forty-eight pots, or singly, in small thumbs ; 
they will quickly strike root. Place in hot- 

Dig quarters to receive Dahlias, &c. 

Epacrises will be interesting ; the early spring 
varieties in flower, the later sorts progressing. 
If in full vigor, give a copious watering, to 
insure the whole soil being fairly saturated. 

Ericas. — The directions similar to the Epacrises 
may be carried out 

Evergreens may yet be planted, notwithstanding 
the directions given previously. 

Fuchsias, to make specimens, should be frequently 
potted, and as constantly stopped back. Do 
not grow them in strong heat, the cooler the 
house the better; their growth in the open 
ground is seldom seen to any great advantage. 

Green-fly, exterminate by tobacco smoke; they 
will be infesting everything at this season, 
unless timely and constantly checked. 

Greenhouse. — Avoid cold winds ; fires at this 
time need caution ; a temperature between 
40° and 45° is the most desirable. Have all 
potting apparatus under command, as the 
general season for the operation may be said 
to have arrived. 

Herbaceous borders will need attention ; subjects 
will be driving through the soil. 

Hollyhocks may be shifted into larger pots and 
receive more water. 

Laions will need mowing, sweeping, &c. 

Liliums. — When they begin to force themselves 
through the soil, take the whole up ; care- 
fully re-pot at least one inch below the 
surface — one bulb into the smaller sized pot, 
or two or three into the larger, using at least 
one inch of crocks and pieces of charcoal as 
drainage. Until established, guard against 
frost, but with as much air as possible. Water 
once or twice with clear lime water, to 
destroy worms. 

Make alterations where determined. 

Open pits, frames, &c, on every fitting oppor- 
tunity ; avoid currents of easterly winds to 
subjects in general. 

Pansies may now be all re-potted into their 
blooming-pots ; the strong growing sorts into 
8-inch, the more delicate growers into 6-inch 
pots ; remove bloom buds. Those in the 
open ground may be top-dressed, if the 
weather prove open. 

Paths should be frequently rolled and freed from 
weeds, moss, &c. 

Pelargoniums. — All plants that are intended to 
flow r er in July, will require stopping back the 
second week in this month. Keep the house 
rather close for a few days ; this will help 
them to push forth their eyes. When their 
eyes are prominent, give air at all oppor- 
tunities, by opening early in the morning and 
shutting up early in the afternoon — say three 
or four o'clock, according to circumstances, 
carefully avoiding all easterly winds. Draw 
the syringe over the plants once or twice a 
week after shutting up, with plenty of sun- 
light and warmth. The May plants will be 
fast showing their trusses. In watering, give 
sufficient to moisten the whole ball ; manure- 
water, as directed last month. — Dobson. 

Petunias. — Propagate by cuttings ; they make 
but a poor return at best. 

Phloxes should be parted and planted out. 

Picotees. — A thorough cleaning and surface 
stirring should now be prosecuted, in addition 
to the directions for Carnations. 

Pinks top-dress ; plant out any wintered in pots 
to fill up losses. We have no faith in spring 
planting as a rule. 

Pits, plants in, will require air when favorable, 
and more water. 

Plants in greenhouse may be top-dressed, and have 
a general cleaning. 

Polyanthuses. — Stir the surface of beds ; top-dress 
in pots ; look to early flowering seedlings. 

Primulas, — Early, will be declining. 

Ranunculuses in beds need protection against 
severe weather ; remove it, however, at all 
mild and congenial times. 

Poses may be pruned at this time. 

Seedlings in pans may be potted off. 

Sow seeds of Annuals, hardy and half hardy ; the 
latter in pits, boxes, pans, &c. 

Sweeping paths, lawns, &c, should not be 

Top-dressings to pots, beds, &c, should be per- 
severed with. 

Tulips. — Gentle, mild showers, will be beneficial 
as the growth proceeds, but see that no water 
is long retained inside the foliage ; keep the 
surface free from caking by a cautious stirring 
on a dry day ; frosts are more injurious than 

Verbenas. — Pot off cuttings as struck into thumb 
pots, using light rich compost. Continue to 
take cuttings. Plants that have been kept 
in small pots all the winter, may now be 
potted into 60's, and placed in a slight dung 
heat until established, and then harden them 
off gradually. 

Violets keep clean. Towards the end of the month 
the runners may be planted out in frames for 
next season's supply. 

Watering will be an increasing duty ; where sub- 
jects are strong, and within doors, let it be 
done effectually. 



BY F. J. GALL, M.D. 

{Continued from page 43.) 

Children possess to a wonderful degree 
the art of manifesting externally what passes 
within them ; their movements and their cries are 
very different, when they are irritated by unjust 
treatment, and when the same accident happens 
without any intention of offending them ; they cry 
very differently to express pain, and to manifest 
weariness, anger, the desire to be changed, or to 
have the breast, &c. 

And, if it be maintained, that at the age of 
some years, children have no passions, affections, 
or decided propensities, this is confounding the 
objects, on which the propensities act at different 
ages, with these propensities themselves. Chil- 
dren are not ambitious for places of honor ; they 
have no idea of robbing their fellow-pupils of their 
property by fraud ; they are not goaded by the 
desire of achieving conquests ; but they cheat each 
other for birds' nests ; fight for playthings ; are 
proud of occupying the first places at school ; and 
the vexation at losing a kite which has got free, 
afflicts a boy more severely, than the loss of a fine 
horse would do at a later age. Who does not ob- 
serve daily, in children, envy, jealousy, the most 
furious anger, compassion, the love of gaming, 
avidity, ambition ; and even pride, cruelty, extreme 
sensibility, &c? We shall say, then, with much 



more truth, that children are, in almost every- 
thing, the diminutive of adults. Let us concede to 
Locke that children do not yet manifest all the 
qualities and all the faculties proper to the adult, 
what consequence can be drawn thence against 
their innateness ? Must we not regard as innate, 
the instincts of animals, the greater part of whom 
do not act immediately after their birth, nor even 
at all seasons of the year ? They do not always 
build their nest or their covert ; they are not 
always laying up provisions ; they do not emigrate, 
or sing, or couple at all times. Locke was com- 
pelled to acknowledge, that he could not resist the 
proofs and the objections drawn from the animal 
kingdom ; but he pretends to answer them by 
saying, " that he did not write a philosophy of 
animals," and thus has fallen into an error amply 
refuted, that man and animals have nothing in 
common between them, and are governed in all 
respects by opposite laws. But, not to go beyond 
men, will Locke and his partisans deny that the 
propensity of love, for example, is allied to the 
organisation ? Yet we find no trace of it during 
their earliest years. If Locke had had more just 
ideas of the primitive faculties, he would have at- 
tributed to each of them a proper organ ; he would 
have known that the various nervous systems, and 
particularly the different organs of the brain, exer- 
cise their functions independently of each other , 
that their development and their activity are not 
complete in the same time ; but that they develop 
themselves successively, some sooner, some later ; 
that each organ, even when perfectly developed, 
may be sometimes active, sometimes inactive. 
Had Locke known all this, he would not have de- 
luded himself with false observations ; and the 
principles which he has established, to explain 
the origin of the qualities and faculties of man, 
would not have been in contradiction with the 
nature of man and with that of animals. 

For the rest, many of these proofs have already 
struck and convinced some, both of the ancient 
and modern philosophers ; and they have, with 
me, acknowledged that there are no primitive qua- 
lities either acquired or factitious ; but that, in 
man as well as in animals, all the dispositions 
are innate, and that their manifestation is ren- 
dered possible only by the organisation. 

Plato acknowledged that the talent of organisa- 
tion is innate. According to him, it is not enough, 
in order to be a philosopher, to join to the desire 
of knowledge a vast conception, good memory, and 
penetration ; it needs, also, a peculiar disposition, 
which cannot be acquired any more than these 
auxiliary faculties. He says, also, that the apti- 
tude for mathematics is innate. He regards the 
desires and the sentiments of pride, courage, and 
sensual appetite not only as innate, but as founded 
on organisation. 

Hippocrates, in speaking of the conditions ne- 
cessary to make a good physician, says, that above 
all he needs the natural dispositions. Quintillian 
ridicules the ancient maxim, " that any body, by 
means of constant application, may become an ora- 
tor." "If precepts," says he, "could bestow the 
art of eloquence, every one would be eloquent." 

Locke himself admits innate faculties. Condil- 
lac, though not consistent throughout his works, 
thus expresses himself on innate faculties : " Men 
are ignorant of what they can do, so long as ex- 

perience has not led them to take notice of what 
they actually do from nature only. Hence, they 
have never done by design, anything but what 
they had already done, even without intending it. 
I think that this observation will always hold good; 
and I also think, that if it had not escaped notice, 
men would have reasoned better than they have 
clone. Men never thought of making analyses, 
till they found they had made them ; they never 
thought of speaking the language of action to 
make themselves understood, till they found 
that they were understood. In like manner 
they would never have thought of speaking with 
articulate sounds, unless they had observed that 
they had spoken with such sounds ; and languages 
have commenced without any design of making 
them. It is thus that men have been poets and 
orators without dreaming of being such. In a 
word, all that they have become, they have first 
been by nature alone ; and they have not studied 
to be such, till they had noticed what nature her- 
self had led them to do. She has commenced 
every thing, and always well : this is a remark 
which we cannot repeat too often. 

" If laws," says he, elsewhere, " are not conven- 
tional, they are then arbitrary ! There may have 
been arbitrary ones ; there are even too many ; but 
those which determine whether our actions are 
good or evil, are not such and cannot be such. 
They are, indeed, our work, because they are con- 
ventions which we have made. But we have not 
made them alone ; nature made them with us, 
she dictated them to us, and it was not in our 
power to make others. The wants and faculties 
of man being given, the laws themselves are given ; 
and though we make them, the Deity who has 
created us with such wants and such faculties is, 
in truth, our sole legislator. In following these 
laws thus conformed to our nature, it is him whom 
we obey, and this is what constitutes the morality 
of actions." 

St. Paul spoke in the same sense, in addressing 
the Romans. "If," says he, "the Gentiles, who 
have not the law, do by nature the things contained 
in the law, they show the work of the law written 
in their hearts." Hume regards covetousness, the 
sense of justice and injustice, the moral sense, &c, 
as innate. George Leroy speaks of compassion 
and religion as innate sentiments. Herder regards 
the sociability of man as innate, and thinks with 
me, that the law, " do not to another what you 
would not have another do to you," is founded on 
the sympathy natural to man. He even regards, 
as innate, the disposition of man to religion, and 
his propensity to honor superhuman beings and 
those of a superior order. 

I shall, elsewhere, completely prove these same 
truths. I shall, likewise, while treating of the dif- 
ferent organs and the various primitive faculties, 
demonstrate that the talents for music, painting, 
architecture, the mechanics, imitation, geometry, 
mathematics, &c, which seem to be only talents 
acquired and produced by social life, are innate in 
man, and are indicated to him by his organisation, 
as the laws of the hexagonal cell are to the bee ; to 
the nightingale, his melody ; and to the beaver, 
his building. I shall, also, make evident, that if 
the qualities of man were not determinate, society 
would only be confusion. I shall show that 
the determination of justice and injustice 



supposes the internal sense ; that if the posi- 
tive laws of thought were not innate, there could 
exist neither logic nor philosophy ; in fine, that all 
the propensities and all the primitive faculties de- 
pend on a determinate and peculiar organisation. 



In the section preceding, I have stated our opi- 
nion on the origin of _the instincts, the propensi- 
ties, the talents ; in fine, on the origin of our 
moral qualities and intellectual faculties. There 
now presents a second question, which is like- 
wise of the highest importance to the physiology 
of the brain ; to wit : whether these qualities 
and these faculties can, in this life, manifest 
themselves independently of material conditions ; 
or, whether they require for their exercise 
certain organs, with which they are in im- 
mediate relation. 

If our moral and intellectual forces can mani- 
fest themselves independently of corporeal condi- 
tions, we might in vain seek in the organisation 
the apparatuses of the moral qualities and the in- 
tellectual faculties. It would always be impossible 
to found a doctrine on the functions of the brain 
and its parts, or a physiology of the brain. Man, 
considered as amoral and intellectual being, would 
be placed beyond the sphere of the observer. If, 
on the contrary, I can show that there exists an 
essential relation between his moral and intellec- 
tual forces and his organisation, it will follow, that 
the researches to discover these material conditions 
are the most important study for the true physiolo- 1 
gist. If, again, I can show, as I shall do in the 
second volume, that these material conditions are j 
the brain and its parts, we shall then have a ! 
glimpse of the possibility of creating a doctrine j 
of the functions of the brain, a doctrine which 
exhibits the organs, by means of which all our j 
propensities.sentiments and faculties are manifested 

The Manifestation of Moral Qualities and 

Intellectual Faculties depends on 

material conditions. 

When I say that the exercise of our moral and [ 
intellectual faculties depends on material condi- 1 
tions, I do not mean that our faculties are the pro- 
duct of organisation ; this would be to confound 
conditions with efficient causes. I limit myself to 
what can be submitted to our observation. Thus, 
I consider our moral and intellectual faculties so far 
only as they become phenomena to us by means of 
the cerebral organs. The physiologist must never 
trust himself beyond the material world, and must 
neither affirm nor deny any thing but what can be 
proved by experience. He must not direct his re- 
searches to a spiritual substance alone, nor to this 
inanimate body alone ; the living man, the result 
of a vegetative life and an animal life, is his object. 
Consequently, he must not enter into these me- 
taphysical questions : What is the nature and the 
essence of the faculties themselves ? Are they the 
attributes of a spiritual substance, or the properties 
of organised matter? In a word, he must not seek 

to explain the union of the soul and the body, nor 
their reciprocal influence ; nor how the influence 
takes place, whether by the immediate action of the 
Deity, by an ethereal fluid, or by a divine emana- 
tion. Whether souls are united to bodies sooner 
or later ; whether they are endowed with different 
qualities in each individual, or are entirely similar 
in all ; whatever may be the decision of theologians 
and metaphysicians on this subject, my principle, 
that the manifestation of the moral qualities and 
intellectual faculties can take place only by means 
of organisation, rests immoveable. 

The reader knows already, although I shall not 
prove it fully till the second volume, that the brain 
is the exclusive organ of our moral qualities and 
intellectual faculties. He will then be prepared 
to find that most of my arguments to establish my 
proposition, are relative to this grand and noble 
nervous system. 

1 . The Moral Qualities and Intellectual Facul- 
ties manifest themselves, increase, and diminish, 
according as their organs are developed, increase 
in strength, and are impaired. 

What takes place in the functions of an inferior 
order and their organs, likewise takes place in the 
functions and the organs of a higher order. Now, 
I have shown in sections first, second, and fourth, 
of the first volume of my large work, that the dif- 
ferent nervous systems develop and perfect them- 
selves at different periods. It is thus, for example, 
that the nervous systems of the viscera of the ab- 
domen and the chest are almost wholly formed, 
while the brain seems, as yet, only a pulpy mass. 
The olfactory nerve, and the nerve of taste, perfect 
themselves sooner than the auditory and the optic : 
we also see that the functions of taste and smell 
acquire their perfection sooner than those of hear- 
ing and sight. These phenomena especially take 
place in those animals, which, when born, are deaf 
and blind. The same progress is remarked in the 
development of the brain. In new-born infants, 
we hardly discover any trace of fibres in the ap- 
paratuses which serve to strengthen and perfect 
this organ. These fibres show themselves dis- 
tinctly in the posterior and middle lobes sooner 
than in the anterior. The fibrous structure of the 
cerebellum becomes visible only by degrees, and it 
is not till after several months that the anterior 
and superior parts of the brain develop themselves 
with a decided energy. The brain is formed and in- 
creases gradually until it has attained its perfection, 
and this perfection takes place only between twen- 
ty and forty years of age. At this last period there 
seems to be no sensible change for some years ; 
but in proportion as we advance in age, the system 
gradually lessens, the brain emaciates and dimin- 
ishes in size, and its convolutions become less 

This successive and gradual order of development, 
stationary state, and failure, is the cause, and 
serves to explain, why, in the new-born infant, the 
only functions are those of the senses of voluntary 
motion — the expression of the want of nourishment, 
and of obscure sensations of pleasure and pain, de- 
sire and aversion , why all this takes place only to 
an imperfect degree ; why the infant begins, by 
degrees, to attend to external objects, to act on 
them, to manifest determinate desires and propen- 



sities ; how the impressions are preserved, and how 
these impressions become ideas and notions ; how 
the qualities and the faculties begin to act, and to 
manifest themselves under the image of different 
talents as well as different propensities ; for ex- 
ample, love, friendship, vanity, ambition, pride ; 
how the infant becomes successively a child, a 
young man , and an adult ; how, at this period, all 
the moral and intellectual forces of the man have 
acquired their greatest energy, up to the moment 
when they begin to fail, and to lose insensibly more 
or less of their permanency and actiwty : in fine, 
how in old men there remain only blunted sensa- 
tions, and weakness of mind. We see, clearly, by 
this succession of development, that the faculties 
of the mind and soul, and their manifestation, follow, 
step by step, the state of their material conditions. 
The progression of the functions is the same as 
that of the organs. Nothing can show more evi- 
dently, that the manifestation of these faculties 
depends on the organisation. 

2. WJien the development of the organs of the 
Moral Qualities and Intellectual Faculties does 
not follow its usual order, the manifestation of the 
functions of these organs likewise departs from its 
usual regular progress. 

We frequently observe in the rickets, that the 
intellectual faculties of children are more lively 
than their age would warrant. The reason is, that 
one of the ordinary effects of this malady, is to give 
the brain an extraordinary degree of development 
and of irritability. Sometimes, indeed, a particular 
part of the brain is developed prematurely, without 
there being any disease to occasion it ; and, in this 
case, the function proper to the part fails not to 
manifest itself at the same time. We have, for 
example, observed several children, in whom the 
part of the brain appropriated to physical love, had 
acquired an extraordinary development at the age 
of three or four years. These children were mas- 
tered by this unhappy propensity, although their 
sexual organs, even when they experienced some ex- 
citement, had rarely acquired an analogous deve- 
lopment. Other children, in whom the same organ- 
isation was remarked, manifested the phenomenon 
of complete virility, while the other faculties were 
still undeveloped. I shall, elsewhere, cite several 
similar facts relative to the organs of each faculty. 
Does it happen that the different parts of the brain, 
or the totality of the organ, acquire their maturity 
and their solidity only at a very late period ? The 
state of infancy and of half imbecility then prolongs 
itself to the age of from six to twelve years. But, at 
this period, nature seems to labor with new energy, 
for the development of the parts ; and children from 
whom, until this moment, no capacity had been 
expected, become, in a short time, remarkable for 
their talents. This was the case with Gesner, one 
of the best and most amiable poets of Switzerland. 
Born of a family in which rickets were hereditary, 
his instructors, when he had attained the age of 
ten years, declared him entirely incapable of making 
any progress. One of the most distinguished phy- 
sicians of Berlin could not, till his thirteenth year, 
combine his ideas nor make use of the organ of 

The simultaneousness of the manifestation of 
particular functions, and of the irregular, precocious 
or late development of their organs, is, therefore, a 

constant phenomenon which cannot be called in 
question. Now it necessarily results from this phe- 
nomenon, that the exercise of the qualities of the 
mind and soul depend on material organs. 


" Who shall decide, when Doctors disagree?" 

The monster eage for Cochin China 
Fowls is abated, ^somewhat ; people are 
beginning to find out that they have been 
"great fools," and that they may pay too 
dearly for their whistle. Also, that all is 
not gold which glitters. Here and there a 
maniac may still be found, to pay an out- 
rageous price for a bird ; but it is rather 
to make himself notorious, than for any real 
value he sees in his purchase. We imagine 
Mr. Stainton, of Holloway, would not like to 
give Mr. Fletcher, of Kensington, another 
£100 for a Cochin China cock ! tt One pill" 
of this kind "is a dose," and needs no " black 
draught to follow." The late Metropolitan 
Poultry Show, is, as a contemporary justly 
observes, " a step in the right direction," and 
may do essential service in calling attention 
to, and improving our useful breeds of do- 
mestic fowl. Very much depends upon proper 
management. Popularity, as regards the 
attendance of visitors, cannot be regarded as 
legitimate success. There are many idle and 
curious people in London, who will flock to 
exhibitions, and applaud all the out-of-the- 
way animals that come under the eye ; they 
will purchase them, too, at high ^prices, and 
rejoice at seeing their names recorded in the 
public prints. That is all very well in its 
way ; but the " practically useful" must be the 
main consideration. 

There have been " Shows" this year in 
Cornwall, Honiton, and Torquay — all well at- 
tended by the nobility and gentry of the 
neigborhoods, and all producing some very 
fine specimens of poultry. We gather from 
this, that much good will be ultimately effect- 
ed. Ladies, now-a-days, seek amusement 
in the rearing of pigeons and fancy poultry. 
We rejoice at this. It is a mark of good 
taste, and has a humanising effect. We observe 
that the prices of the Cochins are becoming 
marvellously reduced. The mania is on the 
wane. The poetical feeling has soared very 
high ; it is time now to descend to prose, and 
— common sense. 

We subjoin an ironical letter on the Cochin 
China mania, that is worthy perusal. Ere 
long, the evil will cure itself : — 

Sir, — Every few years an exaggerated 
idea of the profit to be gained by, and the 
essential value of, some particular plant, ani- 
mal, or mode of culture, seizes on the public 
mind ; and remains there till drawn out by 
some still more extravagant whim. Among 



these manias and panaceas, few have been 
more ridiculous than the exaggerated value set 
upon poultry in general; and the enormous 
prices at present given for a breed of fowls 
neither excelling in flavor, hardy, nor beau- 
tiful. This folly is exaggerated in valuing 
the species not for size, early maturity, or 
egg productiveness (in which they excel) ; 
but from slight differences in plumage, shape 
of comb, and feathered or naked legs — as 
ridiculous a system as that of " valuing" 
rabbits by the length of their ears, or pigeons 
by the spread of their tails, — modes by which 
their owners ought rather perhaps to be 
valued. If farmers are not mere " farmers" 
either of birds or beasts; if high prices are given 
for animals of an improved breed — it is be- 
cause they possess, or are supposed to possess, 
some real and intrinsic superiority, and have 
cost the improvers or importers considerable 
trouble and expense. The introduction of 
new or superior kinds of domestic animals 
from foreign countries, is indeed a matter of 
much importance ; and, if carried out in a 
systematic manner, might lead to great bene- 
fit to the country, as well as profit to the 
importer. Why should Cochin China fowls 
monopolise all our efforts ? And if they are 
of so much importance, no doubt great num- 
bers, superior to most that have yet been 
imported, might be obtained from the Cochin 
Chinese at very low rates ; and would turn 
out a good investment, if even half the 
present quoted prices were obtained in Eng- 
land. It is very likely, however, that the 
breed may soon degenerate in this country, 
and thus a constant import be necessary, if 
not profitable. 

With regard to other animals. Why 
should the Australian kangaroo and the 
American llama be confined to menageries, 
and not be found occasionally in our pas- 
tures ? In Texas, it seems, there is a kind of 
rabbit, called, from its size, the "jackass 
rabbit,' 1 '' often weighing as much as 501bs. 

The passenger pigeon of America is a very 
large and well-flavored variety, it being six- 
teen inches long, and twenty-four inches in 
the spread of its wings ; its hue chiefly slate 
color. They emigrate in millions, and feed 
on acorns and beech-mast. Their most fre- j 
quented roosting-places are covered to the , 
depth of several inches with their dung, over 
thousands of acres ; all the trees being 
killed, and nothing growing for years after- 
wards (what a good substitute for guano, if ' 
it could be brought to us cheaply enough). 
In their breeding-places, herds of hogs are 
fed on the young pigeons or squabs, which are 
also melted down as a substitute for butter ; 
or lard. The felling a single tree often pro - | 
duces two hundred squabs, nearly as large 
as the old ones, and almost one mass of fat. \ 
When the flocks of full-grown pigeons enter | 

a district, clap-nets and guns are in great 
requisition ; and wagon-loads of pigeons are 
poured into the town, and sold at fifty, 
twenty-five, and even twelve cents per dozen. 
This makes the highest price about twopence, 
and the lowest a half-penny each. Why could 
not this large pigeon, whose migratory habits 
are principally caused by search for food, be 
introduced into this country as a tame 
variety ; or, by crossing with our native 
breeds, enlarge the size ? or in the same 
way as fresh mutton was sent from Aus- 
tralia, be sent in casks potted in their own 
fat, to supply us with cheap pigeon pies ? 

And the same with a cross with the 
large Texan rabbit, or the wild American 
turkey — the latter being far superior in size 
and appearance to its degenerate descen- 
dant, the tame turkey ? They are sometimes 
four feet in length, and five feet from 
wing to wing. 

The canvass-back ducks of America are 
there boasted of exceedingly as a delicacy ; 
yet although a great variety of useless water- 
fowl have been introduced merely as an or- 
nament to the ponds and streams of our gen- 
try, no attempt has been made to bring this 
kind to our farm-yards and tables. Even 
if it was found impossible to tame the pure 
breed, a cross with our own might be effected. 

In the capercalzie, or cock of the ivood, a 
bird of the grouse species, but nearly as 
large as a turkey, once indigenous in Scot- 
land, but now only found in the north of 
Europe, and in the bastard, the largest 
European land-bird, the cock weighing from 
twenty-five to twenty- seven pounds, we have 
examples of two fowls well worth the trial 
of domesticating by the amateur or intelli 
gent agriculturist — a trial which, if success- 
ful, would probably repay quite as well as 
competition about the color of a feather, or 
the shortness of a tail ; and in time would be 
the means of affording a constant, certain, 
and moderately-priced supply, which is never 
the case while animals remain in a wild or 
half-wild state. W. 




To the Editor. — Sir, In your recent 
notice of this Society's Grand Exhibition of 
Fancy Pigeons, at the Freemasons' Tavern, 
the names of two of the exhibitors are in- 
correctly printed. I hardly need point out 
to you, how very annoying this mistake must 
be to the respective parties ; and I feel sure 
you will readily make the amende honorable. 

Speaking of the rare excellence of the 
Poicter Pigeons, you assigned the honor of 
rearing them to " Mr. Butt." The name 
given, should have been Mr. Bult, of Horn- 



Again, — whilst commending the elegant 
Almond Tumblers, exhibited by Mr. Jones 
and others, you named one of the exhibitors 
as " Payne." Suum cuique ! Mr. Editor. 
His ' proper name ' is Pyne, and he resides 
in Lambeth. 

By " rendering unto Caesar that which is 
Caesar's" — a point of honor which I know 
attaches to the principles of our Journal, 
you will oblige, Sir, your obedient servant, 

F. Esquilant, 

February 20, 1853. 




One year, beloved wife, hath flown, 
Since first I claimed thee as mine own ; 
And had my; harp the skill to fling 
In glowing numbers from its string 
That tender love and sweet esteem 
Which makes my life a gentle dream, — 
I'd breathe a fond and grateful lay 
To greet this dear and blessed day ; 
A day which made me one with thee ; 
The first of joy's reality, — 
Of joy so calm, and yet so deep, 
So like the dreamy bliss of sleep, 
That till thy gentle hand I feel 
My spirit almost doubts it real ; 
And trembles lest it pass away 
Like dew-drops with the noontide ray. 

A year has pass'd — a blessed year, 
Beloved, thou hast borne my name ; 

Still in our calm domestic sphere 

As brightly burns love's hallowed flame. 

No idle strifes or cares have come 

To chill its warmth in our sweet home. 

Home ! Oh ! it is a holy ground ; 

A soil where fairest buds are found, — 

Not such as win a vain world's eye, 

To flaunt awhile, then droop and die, 

Leaving no memories enshrined, 

No grateful perfume on the mind. 

Home's blossoms are not such as these : 

Their names are Hope, Love, Joy, and Peace ; 

Flowers of the heart, in mercy made 

To bloom alike in sun or shade. 

And still, as fond affection blends 

These sister-blossoms, time but lends 

A deeper charm to all that tells 

Of that dear home where " my love" dwells. 

My heart, belov'd, was as a barque, 
Fast drifting on despair's rude coast. 

Around it, all grew drear and dark ; 
Its compass gone, its rudder lost. 

When o'er the waste a beacon shone, 

Which bade me boldly struggle on. 

Hope sprung aloft, and to the gale 

Unfurled her renovated sail. 

Love seized the helm, and o'er life's sea 

In safety ^steered my soul to thee. 

All sorrows hushed, all perils past, 
My weary heart found peace at last ; 
And, on the haven of thy breast, 
Secure from storms, a blissful rest. 
Shall I not bless that beacon-light 
Which shone athwart my bosom's night ; 
Which led me to the hallowed shrine 
Of wedded love, and made thee mine ? 
Oh ! when I look within my breast 

And see the change existent there, 
And feel 'twas thou its cares represt, 

Thy tenderness that dried each tear ; 
While still to thee alone I owe 
That calm and deep and tranquil flow 
Of happy thought, which like the sun, 
Steeps all in light it shines upon — 
How can I bless enough the hour 
That brought with thee so rich a dower ! 

My gentle wife ! the cares of earth 

Fall lightly on my spirit now ; 
My heart is filled with that sweet mirth 

Which wedded love can only know. 
To thee I turn, whose every look, 
Instinct with love, becomes a book 
Where I some joyous tale may read, 
Whose language makes me bless'd indeed! 
For oh ! it is a precious thing, 
To be to those we love the spring 
Of those pure feelings, which invest 
With light and joy life's barren road ; 
Feelings which sanctify the breast, 
And draw us nearer Heaven and God. 

A year, this morn, in joy and pride 
I press'd thy cheek a blushing bride ; 
A year, this morn, we vowed to prove 
Each other's solace, stay, and love. 
Have we not kept that tender oath ; 
Hath God in each not blest us both ? 
I've heard it said, " one passing year 
Oft makes the nuptial smile a tear — 
That marriage joys decay full soon, 
Nay, perish with the honey-moon." 
We know not this — time has but bound 
Our spirits in love's magic round ; 
More closely knit each tender tie 
With hopes of sweet futurity — 
Shut out all discontent and strife, 
And made a honey-moon of Life. 


Let Love feed the Lamp of Life, 

Love is Life's chief beauty ; 
In its sorrow and its strife, 
Love is the World's faithful wife, 
Doing virtuous duty. 

Love, alike to soothe or save, 

Kindly watches o'er us 
From the cradle to the grave ; 
And, with every tossing wave, 

Soars and sings in chorus. 

Love is Life's pervading charm, 

In bright or angry weather; 
Let the pure flame keep us warm, 
And light us all from hate and harm, 
In brotherhood together ! 




She laughs and runs, a cherub thing ; 

And proud is the doating sire 
To see her pluck the buds of Spring, 

Or play by the winter fire. 
Her golden hair falls thick and fair, 

In many a wavy curl ; 
And freshly sleek is the ruddy cheek 

Of the infant English girl. 

The years steal on — and, day by day, 

Her native charms expand ; 
Till her round face beams in the summer ray 

Like the rose of our own blest land. 
There's music in her laughing tone, 

A darker shade on the curl ; 
And beauty makes her chosen throne 

On the brow of the English girl. 

She is standing now, a happy bride, 

At the holy altar's rail ; 
While the sacred blush of maiden pride 

Gives a tinge to the snowy veil. 
Her eye of light is the diamond bright, 

Her innocence, — the pearl ; 
And these are ever the bridal gems 

That are worn by the English girl. 


Oh, take her ! but be faithful still ; 

And may the bridal vow 
Be sacred held in after years, 

And warmly breath'd as now ! 

Remember — 'tis no common tie 
That binds her youthful heart ; 

'Tis one that only Truth should weave, 
And only Death can part. 

The paradise of childhood's hour, 

The home of riper years, 
The treasur'd scenes of early youth, 

In sunshine and in tears. 

The purest hopes her bosom knew, 
When her young heart was free ; 

All these and more she now resigns, 
To brave the world with thee. 

Her lot in life is fix'd, with thine 

Its good and ill to share ; 
And well I know 'twill be her pride 

To soothe each sorrow there. 

Then take her ; and may fleeting Time 

Mark only Joy's increase ! 
And may your days glide sweetly on 

In happiness aid peace ! 


Innocence and Happiness are twins, — xever to 
be found apart. Where one lives, there lives the 
other. Try and separate them, if you will ; yet 
might you as easily remove the spots from a 
leopard's skin : — 
Look at that happy girl*s enchanting face ; 

So lovely, yet so arch — so full of mirth ! 
Her every movement's mark'd with winning grace, 

For Ixxocexce gave all her virtues birth. 



Hope in the bud is often blasted, 

And Beauty on the desert wasted ; 

And Joy, a primrose early gay, 

Care's lightest footfall treads away. 

But Lovk shall live — aye, live forever, 

And chance and change shall reach it never ! 

Cold is the friendship of the World, 

Ceaseless its bitter strife ! 
Its pity grates upon the ear, 
Its sympathy e'en fails to cheer 

The dreary hours of life. 

Craft and hvpocrisy lay hid 

Beneath the garb of praise ; 
With caution, flattery conceals 
The bitter enmity she feels ; 

And " art" its power displays. 

Harsh is its mercy, stern its law, 

Feebly its blessing flows ; 
One kind approving smile from thee 
Is better, dearer far to me 

Than all the world bestows ! 

Grant me thy blessing ; with my tears 

I crave thy sympathy. 
Hope's brightest banners are unfurl'd ; 
(I hate the friendship of the world,) 

May I not live for thee ? 

The joy thus kindled in my heart, 

Shall cheer me whilst I live ; 
Shall strew the path of life with flow'rs, 
And make a richer treasure ours 
Than this cold world can give. 

Oh ! what a bliss it is to know 
That " this is not our rest ;" 

We've no abiding city here, 
u Our home" is in a brighter sphere, 

For ever with the blest ! 

We have a Friend who cannot err, 

Whose power alone can save ; 
He sends His blessings from above, 
Crowns us with mercy, peace, and love, 
And "hope" beyond the grave ! 


One Summer's morn, fair Flora's shrino 

A beauteous maiden sought ; 
A faultless bouquet to combine, 

Was what she would be taught. 
11 Choose, maiden, from the flowery race, 

Thy favorites with care," 
Said Flora, " and I'll show the place 

Where each will seem most fair." 

A half-blown rose, with sunny 6mile, 

Won first the fair maid's heart ; 
She raised it to her lips, the while, — 
The twins were loth to part. 
" The work is done," the goddess cries, 
" The bouquet's faultless now; 
The flower, the lip, the world defies 
For sweetness, I will trow." 






Custom— the world's great idol, we adore ; 
And knowing this, we seek to know no more. 
What education did at first conceive, 
Our ripened eye confirms us to believe. 


Custom ever does dispense 

A universal influence ; 
And makes things right or wrong appear, 

Just as they do her liv'ry wear. 


UDGING of Society, as we 
have a right to do, from what 
daily comes under our eye — we 
think it desirable to " hold the 
mirror up to nature" at every 
convenient opportunity. People 
reflected veluti in speculum, may 
perhaps be taught to " think." Only let us 
get their ear, and we will try to descend 
lower — into their heart. Once there, we 
have no fear of being turned out. We always 
" play a deep game ;" and generally win the 
" odd trick." 

" May I trouble you to show me that 
dress-cap with blue trimmings in the win- 
dow ? " said a lady- like person, as she 
entered a fashionable lace-shop. 

The proprietor, with a polite bow, handed 
the lady a chair ; and producing the cap 
alluded to, recommended it in the usual set 

" Pray, what is the price ? " inquired 
Mrs. Mowbray, with a dissatisfied air, after 
viewing it in every imaginable position, and 
scrutinising its materials and workmanship 
with the most patient minuteness. 

"The price is seven shillings, madam," 
answered the shopkeeper, rubbing his hands. 

" Seven shillings ! " exclaimed Mrs. Mow- 
bray ; " why, I have seen them marked up 
at a score of places for six ; and at the 
bazaars they are cheaper still." 

" Excuse me, madam," replied the shop- 
keeper, " not such a cap as that, I think. 
Observe the tine quality of the materials, 
and the neatness of the workmanship. It is 
a first-rate article." 

" Oh yes, I see," rejoined Mrs. Mow- 
bray ; " but the caps to which 1 allude are 
quite equal to it in ever} T respect. The fact 
is, I do not particularly want it ; but if six 
shillings will do, I will take it." 

The shopkeeper hesitated. " I suppose 
you must have it then, madam," said he 
with a saddened countenance, "but really 
I get no profit by it at that price." 

" Oh," said Mrs. Mowbray, with a banter- 
ing air, " you shopkeepers never get any 
profit, if we are to believe you. You mean 
to say, you do not pocket quite fifty per cent, 
by it." 

The shopkeeper, with a faint effort to 
smile, shook his head as he neatly folded and 
wrapped up the delicate article ; and Mrs. 
Mowbray having counted out the six shil- 
lings, he politely thanked her, opened the 
shop-door, and bade her good- day. 

" There, Jane," said Mrs. Mowbray, as 
she entered the parlor on her arrival at 
home, " what do you think of my pur- 
chase ?" — holding up her new acquisition. Is 
it not a love of a cap ? Guess what I gave 
for it." 

Jane examined it minutely, and guessed 
the price to be seven or eight shillings — the 
materials and work being, as she remarked, 
so very good. 

" Only six shillings ! " said Mrs. Mow- 
bray triumphantly ; " the shopkeeper asked 
seven, but I succeeded in getting it for 
six; and (putting it on and walking up to 
the looking-glass) I assure yc u I am not a 
little pleased with my bargain." 

" Well," said Jane, " it is a wonder they 
can afford to sell such a cap for the money ; 
the materials alone, I should think, would 
cost as much as that." 

" It is a wonder," replied Mrs. Mowbray 
indifferently, as she turned herself round 
before the looking-glass, and inquired of her 
sister how it suited her face, and whether the 
color of the ribbon was adapted to her 

A loud double knock at this moment was 
heard at the door, and Mrs. Mowbray, 
taking off the cap in the greatest trepidation, 
remarked that she would not for the world 
that her husband should know of her pur- 
chase, as her last month's millinery bill had 
been very heavy, and Edward would be 
displeased at what he would term her extra- 

The cap was safely deposited before Ed- 
ward had entered the room ; who, throwing 
himself on the sofa, declared he was fatigued, 
and said he should be glad of a cup of tea- 

"You are late, my dear, this evening, 
are you not ? " inquired Mrs. Mowbray. 

"I am later than usual," answered Mr. 
Mowbray ; " I have been attending a com- 
mittee-meeting of our benevolent society, 
which detained me some time." 

"Your benevolent society is always de- 
taining you, I think," said Mrs, Mowbray, 
somewhat reproachfully ; " benevolent so- 
cieties are very good things no doubt, but 
I think you have quite sufficient to do, both 
with your time and your money, without 
attending to any such things. What can ice do 
for the poor ? It is very well for those who 
have nothing to do, and plenty of money to 
spare ; but 1 cannot see how persons with so 
limited an income as ours have any business 
with benevolent societies." 

" Well, my dear," replied Edward, " I have 

Vol. III.— 8. 

thought on the subject sufficiently to entitle 
me to a decided opinion ; and I am sure if 
you had been with us to-day, and had heard 
the instances of the good we have already 
effected, you would not hold so lightly the 
exertions of even such humble individuals as 
we. I hope I am neither neglecting my 
business, nor my home, in these efforts ; and 
I am confident you will rejoice with me when 
I tell you that we have good reason to hope 
that we are making some impression, how- 
ever little, upon the vice and ignorance 
which have so long made those lanes and 
alleys at the back of our house a nuisance to 
the neighborhood." 

" Of course, my dear," said Mrs. Mowbray, 
" I wish always to sympathise witli you in 
any of your efforts to do good." 

" We have some funds in hand," remarked 
Mr. Mowbray, " and I have promised our 
committee to visit the poor families myself 
to-morrow, to ascertain their individual cir- 
cumstances, and the best means of serving 
them. Let me add, my dear," said he coax- 
ingly, " that I hope you will accompany me, 
and share with me the pleasure of inquiring 
into their necessities, and endeavoring to 
alleviate their distress." 

Mrs. Mowbray would willingly have con- 
ceded to her husband the monopoly of this 
pleasure ; but, after making a host of ob- 
jections and excuses, which were successfully 
combated by him, was at last brought to 
acquiesce in his wish, and promised to be in 
readiness on the following afternoon to ac- 
company him on what she nevertheless 
deemed a Quixotic expedition. 

The next day Mrs. Mowbray was reluc- 
tantly ready on her husband's return from 
business ; and, roughly attired for the occa- 
sion, they started on their exploratory tour. 

Leaving the main thoroughfare, with its 
genteel dwelling-houses and glittering shops, 
they turned down a little by-street, at the 
end of which they found themselves in the 
midst of a huge nest, as it were, of courts 
and alleys, which presented a striking con- 
trast with the gaudy street they had just 
left. Mrs. Mowbray was so shocked at the 
sight of such wretchedness, that she hesitated 
to proceed, till re-assured by her husband, 
who well knew the locality, and had often 
visited the poor families there before. 

The appearance of the spot was indeed 
deplorable ; and not a little startling to one 
w r hose walks had been confined to the public 
thoroughfares. It was a lovely afternoon, 
yet even the sun's piercing beams could 
scarcely penetrate some of these cheerless, 
gloomy nooks. Here were clusters of pesti- 
ferous hovels ; some without doors, crowded 
with human beings, though unfit even for the 
habitation of the most valueless animal. In 
many, the old window-panes were almost all 

broken, while in others they were so dirty, 
and patched with paper or stuffed with rags, 
that they but very partially admitted the 
light of day. Ragged and vicious boys were 
gambling in groups, and bare-footed children 
were playing about in the slimy mud ; some 
squalid and puny in consequence of bad air 
and insufficient food, and others whose chubby 
features displayed, in spite of dirt and pri- 
vation, a robustness of health that would 
have done credit to the nursery of a noble- 

Here were gaunt men, with dull, meaning- 
less countenances, sitting on their comfort- 
less thresholds ; the bony, haggard women 
screeching for their strayed children, while 
the scarcely concealed forms of some of the 
younger females might have served as models 
for the painter or sculptor. Yet even here 
were traces of human sympathies of the 
purest kind. Girls were nursing their baby 
sisters with the most patient devotedness. 
The playful, innocent -faced kitten, a universal 
favorite, frolicked about in the dirty window- 
sill ; the social dog seemed quite at home 
with the children, as they shared with him 
their pittance of bread ; whilst from many a 
superannuated saucepan and spoutless tea- 
pot, at the upper windows, grew the fragrant 
bergamot and the blushing geranium with 
strange luxuriance. 

The appearance in such a neighborhood of 
two well-dressed persons, soon caused an 
unusual excitement ; especially as Mr. Mow- 
bray was known among the poor inhabitants. 
Whenever he appeared there, it might be 
safely calculated there was something to be 
given away. Children, after a hasty glance 
at the intruders, left their playfellows, and 
ran to their homes ; heads were thrust out 
at the windows. Some shuffled to their own 
rooms, that they might be ready if called on ; 
others obtruded themselves in the way with 
an obsequious curtsey. Some came to their 
doors with their little ones peeping from 
behind their aprons : and all around were on 
the tiptoe of expectation. 

As they climbed the creaking stairs, and 
explored the naked garrets of the various 
houses, it was singular to mark the dis-simi- 
larity in character and circumstances of the 
various inmates — alike only in their poverty. 
Even in form and feature the contrast was 
striking. In the countenances of some, might 
be unmistakeably read the sensual and the 
brutish ; while in the lineaments of others 
might be traced, notwithstanding dirt and 
rags, the predominance of the gentle, and 
even the refined. Here was the round- 
cheeked boor, who fattened amid the filth 
that seemed natural to him ; and here the 
angular-featured man of thought and of ob- 
servation, whom more favorable circum- 
stances might have placed in a far different 



sphere. The student of human character 
could not have desired a finer field for the 
prosecution of his studies, than such a one as 
this ; and the more so, as character was here 
so forcibly developed for good or evil, un- 
weakened by any of the influences which 
affect civilised life. Mrs. Mowbray as she 
joined her husband in kind conversation 
with the various families they visited, soon 
began to feel a deep interest in them, sooth- 
ingly advised with them, and relieved some 
of their more pressing wants. 

They had completed their intended round 
of visits, and were just leaving the court to 
return homeward, when a young woman, 
carrying in her hand a milliner's basket, 
crossed before them. She was very meanly 
clad, and her appearance bespoke deep 
poverty ; yet there was an aspect of respect- 
ability about her that could not be mistaken. 
She evidently shrunk from observation : but 
as she looked up with a surprised air at the 
unusual sight of two respectably-dressed 
persons in such a place, her sad countenance, 
beaming with intelligence, so forcibly im- 
pressed Mr. Mowbray, that he stopped her ; 
and asking her where she lived, expressed a 
wish to pay her a visit. 

The young woman curtseyed, and led the 
way to a house superior to most of those 
they had just left, but scarcely less wretched 
and ruinous. It was a large building, and 
had perhaps once been tenanted by the 
wealthy ; but it had long since fallen into 
decay, and its lofty capacious rooms had 
been divided into a number of small ones, 
each of which now contained a family, large 
or small as the case might be. Mr. and Mrs. 
Mowbray followed the young woman up the 
wide staircase to the top of the house ; and 
then turning into a long gallery, their guide 
stopped at length at a door, and lifting the 
latch, with a curtsey and an apology for the 
untidiness of the humble room, ushered them 
into her apartment ; and dusting the chair 
(there was but one), invited Mrs. Mowbray 
to take a seat. 

The room was spacious, and appeared the 
larger in consequence of being so scantily 
furnished. Some half-dozen old books lay 
in the window ; a few articles of crockery- 
ware were arranged on a box in the corner 
of the room ; and these, with a little table, 
a chair, and a box, which seemed to serve 
occasionally as a seat, comprised nearly all 
the articles visible in the room. Every- 
thing, however, was clean and tidy, and 
there was an air of decency and respect- 
ability about the room which pleasingly 
contrasted with those they had just left. 

' Do you live here alone, pray ? ' inquired 
Mr. Mowbray. 

'No, Sir,' replied the young woman 
feebly, ' my aged mother lives with me ; 

but (pointing to a bed at the further end 
of the room, and which the gathering sha- 
dows of evening had prevented them from 
before observing) she is ill, and has been 
confined to her bed for the last month.' 

' Have you no father ?' inquired Mr. Mow- 

The young woman was silent for a moment, 
as her tongue struggled to articulate an an- 
swer, while a tear trickled down her cheek. 

' My father is dead, sir,' she replied : ' he 
died about six months ago after a short ill- 
ness, and we were in consequence compelled 
to leave our former nice home, and take this 

1 And pray how do you support yourself 
and your mother ?' asked Mr. Mowbray, 
glancing at the table, which was strewed with 
pieces of lace, ribbon, &c. 

'I make caps and collars, sir,' said the 
young female, ' when I can get work to do ; 
but it is very precarious, and so badly paid 
for, that I have been obliged to pawn nearly 
all our furniture to keep out of debt. I am 
unwilling that my poor mother should be 
chargeable to the parish; but my hardest 
exertions are insufficient to supply us even 
with bread.' 

' Pray, whom do you work for ?' inquired 
Mrs. Mowbray, looking curiously at an un- 
finished cap which lay on the table. 

' I work principally, madam,' replied the 
young woman, ' for the large lace shop in the 
street close by. That cap, madam, will only 
bring me 5s. when it is finished ; and I have 
already spent nearly a day in making it, and 
the materials cost me 4s. 6d. Even this poor 
profit is to be reduced, for my employer told 
me last night he could not afford to give me 
so much for them, as ladies refuse to give him 
his price.'' 

' Ladies, indeed !' exclaimed Mr. Mowbray 
indignantly ; " wretches, I should call them. 
What else can they be ?' 

Mrs. Mowbray turned her head aside and 
blushed deeply; for she recognised in the 
cap before her the counterpart of the one 
she had bought the preceding day ; and in the 
employer of this poor young woman, the lace- 
man of ivhom she had bought it. 

Mr. Mowbray made some further inquiries, 
and leaving the poor cap-maker a trifle, pro- 
mised to send a doctor to visit her mother, 
and to call on her again ; and Mrs. Mowbray, 
before leaving, gave her a liberal " order," 
together with a comforting assurance that 
she would endeavor to interest her friends 
on her behalf. 

We hope all the fair readers of Kidd's 
Journal will assist in carrying out the same 
noble, honest, delightful principle. Trades- 
people now-a-days, are " existing," — not liv- 
ing. They are from home all day, and worn 
out by fatigue long before they reach their 




" household-gods" at night. All this is 
traceable to the ridiculous rage for " cheap • 
ness," which is naturally associated with 
11 meanness." But to return. 

Mrs. Mowbray, though ashamed, and self- 
convicted, returned home, pleased with her 
novel tour ; and frequently afterwards accom- 
panied her husband on such occasions. " Bar- 
gain-hunting" had been, in her individual case, 
the result of thoughtlessness, rather than of 
an unfeeling disposition. Would this were 
generally the case ! but it is far, very far, 
otherwise. From this moment, she was 
more liberal in her views, and more liberal 
in her purchases. Nor did she, while deal- 
ing with an honest tradesman, ever feel dis- 
posed to depreciate the value of his goods. 
" The Cap" would rush into her mind, when 
she wavered ! 

Let us now wind up this graphic sketch, 
by remarking that Mrs. Mowbray became 
quite a changed woman. Her idea of " cheap- 
ness" van'shed ; nor could she ever be brought 
to believe that a bad article, at any price, 
could be " cheap." " My love," said she, one 
evening, to her husband, " You are right ; 
A good article is always worth a fair 


From this day forward, cheap ticketed 
articles became her aversion. She associated 
them with unfairly depreciated wages, 
and wretchedness of the poor. Too well 
knew she, that by " grinding their faces," 
could " cheapness" be alone attained. 

May each one of our married readers be a 
Mrs. Mowbray ; and may each one of those 
who are at present " single," make a despe- 
rate " set" at a " Mr." Mowbray, wherever 
they can rind him. We would not grudge 
even a " cheap" pretty cap, for the purpose 
of securing the conquest. 

Postscript. — We cannot resist the oppor- 
tunity that offers, for printing in this place 
poor Tom Hood's " Thoughts on the mean- 
ness of our nobility and gentry." They are 
a pendant to his popular " Song of the Shirt," 
and have, just now, a voice that should 
awaken even " the Seven Sleepers." 

Some time since, says Hood (for he is 
"speaking" still), a strong inward impulse 
moved me to paint the destitution of an 
overtasked class of females, who work, work, 
work, for wages almost nominal. But de- 
plorable as is their condition, in the low 
deep, there is, it seems, a lower still. 
Beneath that Purgatory, a Hell. Resound- 
ing with more doleful wailings and a sharper 
outcry, the voice of famishing wretches, 
pleading vainly for work ! work ! work ! 
imploring as a blessing what was laid upon 
Man as a curse — the labor that wrings 
sweat from the brow, and bread from the 

As a matter of conscience, that wail 
touches me not. As my works testify, 1 am 
of the working class myself; and in my 
humble sphere furnish employment for many 
hands, including paper-makers, draughtsmen, 
engravers, compositors, pressmen, binders, 
folders, and stitchers — and critics ; all re- 
ceiving a fair day's wages for a fair day's 
work. My gains, consequently, are limited 
— not nearly so enormous as have been 
realised upon shirts, slops, shawls, &c. — 
curiously illustrating how a man or woman 
might be " clothed with curses as with a 

My fortune may be expressed without a 
long row of those ciphers —those O's, at once 
significant of hundreds of thousands of pounds 
and as many ejaculations of pain and sorrow 
from dependent slaves. My wealth might all 
be hoarded, if I were miserly, in a gallipot or 
a tin snuff box. My guineas, placed edge to 
edge, instead of extending from the Minories 
to Golden Square, would barely reach from 
home to Bread Street. My riches would 
hardly allow me a roll in them, even if 
turned into the new copper mites. But then, 
thank God ! no reproach clings to my coin. 
No tears of blood clog the meshes — no hair, 
plucked in desperation, is knitted with the 
silk of my lean purse. 

No consumptive sempstress can point at 
me her lean forefinger, and say, " For thee, 
sewing in forma pauperis, I am become this 
Living Skeleton !" or hold up to me her fatal 
needle, as one through the eye of which the 
scriptural camel must pass, ere I may hope to 
enter heaven. No withered work-woman, 
shaking at me her dripping suicidal locks, 
can cry, in a piercing voice, "For thee and 
for six poor pence, I embroidered eighty flow- 
ers on this veil" — literally a veil of tears. 

No famishing laborer, his joints racked 
with toil, holds out to me in the palm of his 
broad, hard hand, seven miserable shillings, 
and mutters, " For these and a parish loaf, 
for six long days, from dawn till dusk, through 
hot and cold, through wet and dry, I tilled 
thy land !" My short sleeps are peaceful ; 
my dreams untroubled. No ghastly phan- 
toms with reproachful faces, and silence 
more terrible than speech, haunt my quiet pil- 
low. No victims of Slow Murder, ushered in 
by the Avenging Fiends, beset my couch, and 
make awful appointments with me to meet at 
the Divine bar on the Day of Judgment. No 
deformed human creatures — men, women, 
children, smirched black as Negroes, trans- 
figured suddenly, as Demons of the Pit, clutch 
at my heels to drag me down, down, down an 
unfathomable shaft, into a gaping Tartarus. 

And if sometimes in w r aking visions I see 
throngs of little faces, with features preterna- 
turally sharp, and wrinkled brows ; and dull, 
seared orbs — grouped with pitying clusters 



of the young-eyed cherubim — not for me, 
thank Heaven ! did those crippled children 
become prematurely old ; and precociously 




Cold March ! I am glad thou art here ; 

I have anxiously waited for thee : 
I knew thou would'st shortly appear, 

By the pretty green buds on the tree. 

I love thee, for thou dost beguile 

The darkness that hangs o'er the earth ; 

There's something so frank in thy smile, 
So honest and sterling thy worth ! 

Thou art noisy and boist'rous, 'tis true ; 

But I know that thy heart is sincere ; 
And I love thee, as one of the few 

Who are faithfully what they appear ! 

Thy breeze wafts the mariner home ; 

The flowing sail proudly expands : 
And the bark nobly rides o'er the foam, 

With the produce of wealthier lands. 

I love thee, for thou dost renew 
The joys that are dearest to me. 

To sorrow I'll bid an adieu, 

To roam with kind Nature — and thee. 

Oh, let us not linger an hour ; 

Sweet melody floats on the air : 
And many a gay little flower 

Is smiling to banish our care. 

The meadows are spangled with gems, 

Looking timidly up to the sky ; 
And primroses nod on their stems, 

As the cold northern blast passes by. 

They are waiting for Spring, gentle Spring, 
To deck them in brighter array ; 

To sprinkle her dew-drops, and sing 
The dark hours of Winter away. 

The children of Nature appear 

To anticipate happier days ; 
The dear little roLin we hear 

Rehearsing his merriest lays. 

The wren, too, sings softly ; and hark ! 

A note of enchantment is heard ; 
'Tis the sweet mellow song of the lark, 

As he carols his praises, — dear bird ! 

The thrush and the blackbird unite 
In their gentle endeavors to please ; 

The squirrel is mad with delight, 

As he leaps from the boughs of the trees. 

I am glad, merry March, thou art here ; 

A rich store of joy thou dost bring : 
The bright buds already appear, 



All jealousy 
Must e'en be strangled in its birth ; or time 
Will soon conspire to make it strong enough 
To overcome the Tevth. 


It is no secret to our readers, what we 
have had to contend with in the establish- 
ment of this their favorite Journal. We 
have recorded our troubles, till we are as 
sick of talking of them as our readers must 
be of hearing them. There is, however, a 
necessity for our once more re-opening the 
question. Let us hope it will be final. 

It appears that the spirited manner in 
which we have begun the New Year, and 
the very large increasing demand for the 
Journal — which now, thanks to our good 
friends, " can no longer be hid" — has goaded 
" the Trade" to madness. They thought to 
have strangled us at Christmas ! But, like 
the Phoenix, here we are again, rejoicing in 
a new life ! — aye, more vigorous than ever. 

Our friends will remember, that the last 
number of OUR Journal w T as published — as 
it always will be, and always has been — two 
days previous to " magazine day." It was 
reported, however, in Paternoster Row, (the 
grand book- mart,) to many of the country 
booksellers, that it was "not out in time I" 
Since then, it has been reported regularly as 
" out of print ;" and " none of the back 
numbers, parts, or volumes to be had," etc., 
etc. Our subscribers are savage — naturally 
savage ; and ask us what we have done to be 
so treated ? Let us reply. "We have been too 
good-natured ! 

W r e personally waited on " the Trade," at 
first starting ; offered them the Journal on 
the most liberal terms — volunteering to ex • 
change them, if not sold, week by week, 
month by month, or to give them a written 
guarantee to purchase back, at the full prices, 
any unsold copies at the end of the year.* 
This was unheard-of liberality ; but listen 
further, good friends : — 

AVe had the ill-fortune to be educated in 
Paternoster Row. We were "articled" to 
one of the largest firms there, in our boyhood. 
We had ' dared" to withdraw from "the 
Trade," in disgust. We had volunteered a 

* The newsvendors and dealers in periodicals, 
not being legitimately known as " Booksellers," 
received us very graciously for the most part, and 
promised us their support. When, however, they 
went to the "Row," and learned who we were, 
it was ridiculous to observe their indifference and 
ill-natm-e. Nobody would keep the Journal, or 
show it ! We recorded our visit to these good 
people, in vol. 1 of our Journal, page 65. The 
article was entitled " Difficultv and Impossibility." 
i —Ed. K. J. 



work on " our own account." In a word, we 
had turned author. We were therefore 
doomed to be one of that persecuted race. 
We need not tell those who understand the 
matter, now authors are treated in "the 
Row." Suffice it to say, that all success must 
rest upon their good name, or the endeavors 
put forth by their friends to serve them. 
This is a notorious fact. 

This little explanation will satisfy our 
friends, both near and afar off, " why" OUR 
Journal was not sent with others ; " why" 
it is always out of print, and " why" com- 
plete sets of the work cannot be had. We 
have remonstrated with one of the largest 
houses in Paternoster Row; and we are bound 
to acknowledge that they treated our remon- 
strances with marked respect, and promised 
to investigate the formal complaints which we 
have found it needful to make. This is " one 
step" towards reform. 

We would gladly be on friendly terms with 
our brethren, if possible ; but, under such 
circumstances as we now record, it cannot be. 

The unceasing complaints we have received 
from all quarters, during the present month, 
wring from us these remarks ; and cause us 
to throw ourselves, more than ever, upon 
the Public. They can, if they will, assist us 
out of our difficulty, and place our Journal 
at once far beyond the reach of such petty 
tyranny. Knowing, as they now do, that 
the work always is ready in time, and that 
the numbers, parts, and volumes, are always 
obtainable, — if they insist upon it, their 
booksellers must attend to orders given. If 
they will not, another remedy offers. Try a 
more respectable tradesman. 




The past month has not failed to remind us 
of " old times."' We had, on the 1st of Feb- 
ruary, as dense a fog — almost, as can be re- 
membered by the " oldest inhabitant." No 
conveyance could we get to our country villa ; 
and the distance that cut us off from it was 
eight miles. We trudged off, therefore, at half- 
past eight, p.m., from the City homewards, 
amidst " darkness visible." Had we space, 
we could write a most readable and droll 
chapter on that walk home. It was full of 
occurrences — comic and serio-comic. We, 
too, had a fall, head foremost into the road. 
Whilst passing through Kensington, our foot 
violently struck against a kerb-stone, and over 
we went. A wicked voice shouted out — "Jolly 
drunk, he is !" It was too dark to see the 
speaker. He had mizzled in the mist. For- 
tunate child of mystery was he. Had we 
caught him, but we did'nt ! 

Well ; that fog. and several other fogs, being 
over, we have had snow and frost ; and all 
the delightful accompaniments thereof. We 
love to see the crystal gems pendant on the 
leaves and branches, and the fantastic crea- 
tions that deck the overhanging arms of the 
trees. We have rejoiced in these sights not 
a little, but cannot now more than glance at 
them. This little exordium is merely intro- 
ductoryof a sketch, by Leigh Hunt, on A cold 
day. Its graphic correctness, most — if not all 
of us, must have verified to the very letter 
not many days since. 

Now, the moment people wake in the 
morning, they perceive the coldness with 
their faces, though they are warm with their 
bodies ; and exclaim, " Here's a day !" and 
pity the poor little sweep and the boy with 
the water-cresses. How anybody can go to 
a cold ditch and gather water-cresses, seems 
marvellous. Perhaps we hear great lumps 
in the street of something falling ; and, look- 
ing through the window, perceive the roofs of 
the neighboring houses thick with snow. 
The breath is visible, issuing from the mouth 
as we lie. Now we hate getting up, and hate 
shaving, and hate the empty grate in our 
bed-room ; and water freezes in ewers, and you 
may set the towel upright on its own hard- 
ness, and the window-panes are frost-whitened; 
or it is foggy, and the sun sends a dull brazen 
beam into one's room ; or, if it is fine, the 
windows outside are stuck with icicles ; or a 
detestable thaw has begun, and they drip ; 
but, at all events, it is horribly cold, and deli- 
cate shavers fidget about their chambers, 
looking distressed ; and cherish their hard- 
hearted enemy, the razor, in their bosoms, to 
warm him a little, and coax him into a con- 
sideration of their chins. Savage is a cut, 
and it makes them think destiny really too 

Now, breakfast is ready; and the fire seems 
to laugh at us as we enter the breakfast- room, 
and say, " Ha ! ha ! here's a better room 
than the bed-room!" and we always poke 
it before we do anything else ; and people 
grow selfish about seats near it ; and little 
boys think their elders tyrannical for say- 
ing, " Oh, you don't want the fire — your 
blood is young." And truly that is not the 
way of stating the case, albeit young blood 
is warmer than old. Now the butter is too 
hard to spread, and the rolls and toast are at 
their maximum; and the former look glorious 
as they issue, smoking, out of the flannel in 
which they come from the baker's ; and 
people who come with single knocks at the 
door are pitied ; and the voices of boys are 
loud in the street, sliding, or throwing snow- 
balls ; and the dustman's bell sounds cold ; 
and we wonder how anybody can go about 
selling fish, especially with that hoarse voice; 
and schoolboys hate their slates, and blow 



their fingers, and detest infinitely the no-fire 
at school ; and the parish beadle's nose is 
redder than ever. 

Now, sounds in general are dull, and 
smoke out of chimneys looks warm and 
rich ; and birds are pitied, hopping about 
for crumbs ; and the trees look wiry and 
cheerless — albeit they are still beautiful to 
imaginative eyes, especially the evergreens, 
and the birch with boughs like dishevelled 
hair. Now mud in the roads is stiff, and 
the kennel ices over, and boys make illegal 
slides on the pathways, and ashes are 
strewed before doors ; or you crunch the 
snow as you tread, or kick mud-flakes before 
you, or are horribly muddy in cities. But 
if it is hard frost, all the world is buttoned 
up, and great-coated, except ostentatious 
elderly gentlemen, and pretended beggars 
with naked feet ; and the delicious sound of 
1 All hot ! ' is heard from roasted apple and 
potatoe stalls — the vendor himself being 
cold, in spite of his ' hot,' and stamping up 
and down to warm his feet ; and the little 
boys are astonished to think how he can eat 
bread and cold meat for his dinner, instead 
of the smoking apples. 

Now, skaters are on the alert ; the cutlers' 
shop windows abound with their swift shoes; 
and as you approach the scene of action — 
pond or canal — you hear the dull grinding 
noise of the skates to and fro, and see tum- 
bles and Banbury cake-men and blackguard 
boys playing ' hockey ;' and ladies stand 
shivering on the banks, and admiring any- 
thing but their brother — especially the gen- 
tleman who is cutting figures of eight, who 
for his part, is admiring his own figure. 
Beginners affect to laugh at their tumbles, 
but are terribly angry, and long to thump the 
byestanders. On thawing days, idlers per- 
sist to the last in skating or sliding amidst 
the slush and bending ice, making the Hu- 
mane Society man ferocious. He feels as if 
he could give them the deaths from which it 
is his business to save them. When you 
have done skating, you come away, feeling at 
once warm and numb in the feet, from the 
tight effect of the skates ; and you carry them 
with an ostentatious air of indifference, as if 
you had done wonders — whereas you have 
fairly had three slips, and can barely achieve 
the inside edge. 

Now, riders look sharp, and horses seem 
brittle in the legs, and old gentlemen feel so ; 
and coachmen, cabmen, and others, stand 
swinging their arms across at their sides, to 
warm themselves ; and blacksmiths' shops 
look pleasant, and potatoe shops detestable ; 
the fishmongers' still more so. We wonder 
how he can live in that plash of wet and cold 
fish, without even a window. Now, clerks in 
offices envy the one next the fire-place : and 
men from behind counters hardly think them- 

selves repaid by being called out to speak to 
a countess in her chariot ; and the wheezy 
and effeminate pastry cook, hatless and 
aproned, and with his hand in his breeches- 
pockets, stands outside his door, chilling his 
household warmth by attending to the ice 
which is brought to him, and seeing it 
unloaded into his cellar like coals. Com- 
fortable look the Miss Joneses, coming this 
way with their muffs and furs ; and the 
baker pities the maid-servant cleaning the 
steps, who, for her part, says she is not cold, 
which he finds it difficult to believe. 

Now dinner rejoiceth the gatherers to- 
gether, and cold meat is despised, and the 
gout defieth the morrow, thinking it but 
reasonable, on such a day, to inflame itself 
with " t'other bottle ; " and the sofa is 
wheeled round to the fire after dinner, and 
people proceed to burn their legs in their 
boots, and little boys their faces ; and young 
ladies are tormented between the cold and 
their complexions, and their fingers freeze at 
the piano-forte — but they must not say so, 
because it will vex their poor comfortable 
grand-aunt, who is sitting with her knees in 
the fire, and who is so anxious that they 
should not be spoilt. 

Now the muffin-bell soundeth sweetly in 
the streets, reminding us, not of the man, 
but his muffins, and of twilight, and evening, 
and curtains, and the fire-side. Now play- 
goers get cold feet, and invalids stop up 
every crevice in their rooms and make them- 
selves worse ; and the streets are compara- 
tively silent ; and the wind rises and falls in 
moanings ; and fires burn blue and crackle ; 
and an easy chair, with your feet by it on a 
stool, the lamp or candles a little behind you, 
and an interesting book just opened where 
you left off — is a bit of heaven upon earth. 
People in cottages crowd close to the chim- 
ney, and tell stories of ghosts and murders, 
the blue flame affording something like evi- 
dence of the facts. 

" The owl, with all her feathers, is a-cold," 

or you think her so. The whole country 
feels like a petrifaction of slate and stillness, 
cut across by the wind ; and nobody in the 
omnibuses are warm but the horses,who steam 
pitifully when they stop. The " oldest 
man " makes a point of never having " seen 
such weather." People have a painful 
doubt whether they have any chins or not ; 
ears ache with the wind ; and the wago - 
ner goes puckering up his teeth, and 
thinking the time will never arrive when 
he shall get to the Five Bells. 

At night, people get sleepy with the 
fire side, and long to go to bed ; yet fear 
it, on account of the different temperature 
of the bed-room ; which is furthermore apt 
to wake them up. Warming-pans and hot- 
water bottles are in request ; and naughty 



boys eschew their night-shirts, and go to 
bed in their socks. 

"Yes," quoth a little boy, to whom we 
read this passage — "and make their younger 

brother go to bed rirst !' 


Naturalists {so-called), and their " Exclusive- 
ness." — As an ardent, though insignificant student 
of nature, I naturally take an interest in every 
thing tending to tbe spread of knowledge, and 
the advancement of science. Judge then with what 
pleasure I hailed the advent of the " Naturalist," 
elder brother to "ourowx." Nor has my ad- 
miration of it abated one jot, as month by month 
I have pored over its pages. " There never," so 
says the proverb, " was a rose without a thorn ;" 
and I am sorry to say that in the twenty-second 
number, I have at last found something which, if 
not a thorn-proper, is "very like one." In con- 
cluding a series of papers on the Lepidoptera of 
the west of Scotland, &c, Mr. John Gray, of Glas- 
gow, after settling to his own evident satisfaction 
the rank which "Local Notes" on Natural His- 
tory ought to occupy, thus develops his peculiar 
ideas. " We know not how far our feelings in 
these and former remarks have been shared by 
the entomological readers of the ' Naturalist ;' but 
glad should we be if they have had the effect of 
arousing enquiry and careful study of the truths 
of nature in any. Then, instead of the insipid 
' lists of captures,' and ' curious facts,' worthless in 
themselves, and sometimes not free from vulgarity, 
which adorn the pages of some magazines of Na- 
tural History, we might hope to see observations 
made, and conclusions arrived at, of permanent 
value, — a bright contrast to the episodes of stroll- 
ing dabblers', whose effusions, whilst offensive 
to the eye, are alike beneath our criticism 
and contempt." I can easily imagine the 
indignation which honest Mr. Gray must feel, 
at the bare idea of a 'strolling dabbler' pre- 
suming in his ignorance to catch a fly, and 
examine it — unless by his express permission. But 
I have yet to learn the philosophy of such wrath. It 
seems to me a happy hit on the part of an au- 
thor, to make an entomological monograph, like a 
wasp, carry a sting in its tail. Mr. Gray ought 
to know that dabblers are only so comparatively. 
It might be of benefit to him to recollect the salu- 
tary truth, that were Swammerdam, De Geer, or 
Latrielle alive, and actuated by the same unchari- 
table spirit as himself, it is within the range of 
possibility that they might stigmatise even his 
writings as " the worthless episodes of a dabbler." 
Mr. Gray's remarks forcibly remind me of one of 
the many foibles which characterised our schoolboy 
days. Bathing on a sandy beach, the 'big boys,' 
who could wade out till the water reached their 
waists, made sport of the ' little boys,' who dared 
not venture beyond knee depth ; and were them- 
selves ridiculed by the still older lads, who had 
learned a few strokes of swimming ; while the 
grown-up man, who could cut the waters like a fish, 
justly looked upon the whole as a boyish squabble. 
Mr. Gray may have got up to the waist, or may 
even have learned a few bold strokes ; but he 
should not splash us who dare scarcely wet our 

knee-caps, lest the strong swimmer visit him rough- 
ly in his turn. But no such feelings as these find 
a resting place in the bosom of the true natural- 
ist. To him, every fact, curious or common, is 
valuable, as so much truth. Aye, and he will 
even descend to what, in Mr. Gray's eves, is most 
offensive and vulgar, — to glean ears of truth from 
the rubbish in which they are hid. What says 
our author about 'lists of captures?' He calls 
them 'insipid ;' quite forgetting that no true his- 
tory of insects or aught else can be compiled, un- 
less facts are supplied. Surely the less compli- 
cated these are, the better for the compilers' pur- 
pose. Perhaps he also forgets that the four papers 
he has just published under the above title, might 
be reduced by the malicious reader to quite as low 
a standard; unless indeed the spice with which 
they end, may have the effect of seasoning them 
to the critic's taste. It is principally, however, at 
"popular writers on natural history" that Mr. 
Gray's indignation seems intended to be pointed. 
Does he not, or will he not know, that for even- 
one who takes up natural history as a science, 
scores take it up as an amusement ? For one who 
will trouble himself with the merits of this, or that 
system, the frivolity of such and such generic and 
specific names, there are hundreds who go no fur- 
ther than admiring the beauty of a flower or an 
insect ; and perhaps knowing a few interesting 
facts of its habits and economy. Who will dare 
to say that such an one has no right to study as 
he pleases ; or as his time and circumstances will 
allow him ? Or who will hazard the opinion that 
he has not as high a sense of the power, wisdom, 
and goodness of the Creator, as the Naturalist- 
proper, with his cabinets, and books ; with his 
systems of physiology, classification, and distribu- 
tion? I am far from doubting that the wider aim 
is the nobler of the two ; but few, I think, will 
deny that, while the scientific student has his 
quartos and his folios, the more simple observer 
should have his popular books, and magazines. 
The charge of vulgarity I cannot see clear. Vul- 
garity now means, with most people, bad-taste ; 
and with a few more, difference of caste. Now, I 
may be a very vulgar man, because I cannot com- 
mand the knowledge or language of another ; but 
I fear me, this vulgarity must be laid — by the 
same rule — to the door of all writers who have a 
superior. If it augurs good taste in a writer to 
finish a paper on insects, with a tirade upon their 
humbler fellow laborers in the same cause ; to 
throw contumely on the lover of truth because, 
forsooth, he does not go so far as he might do ; to 
stigmatise as 'strolling dabblers' all who presume 
to hold unsophisticated converse with nature, and 
record the facts which they learn from her in plain 
unscientific language ; then I will humbly but 
cheerfully bear the reproach of 'vulgarity;' and 
remain, with every respect for Mr. Gray, as a Na- 
turalist — " A Strolling Dabbler." 

[We readily insert your communication ; nor 
, are you the only party aggrieved by Mr. Gray's 
: injudicious and uncalled-for comments. He strikes 
' at our journal — at every Journal that gives en- 
J couragement to persons who would be seeking 
: harmless information on matters of Natural His- 
1 tory. These " exclusive" feelings he has a right 
! to ; we do not question that right. Still we must 
| regret that an avowed "Lover of Nature " should 



give utterance, in print, to what ought to be locked 
up in his own bosom. We can imagine our noble 
ally, Bombyx Atlas — who in the summer rises at 
four a. m, and ere breakfast-time has " strolled" 
we know not how many miles — " dabbling" in the 
early dew, among the butterflies ; we can imagine 
him, we say, reading Mr. Gray's sneering remarks, 
and see his jolly, happy, healthy countenance ex- 
panding into one wide and expressive laugh, as he 
sits down to his streaky bacon, new laid eggs, and 
tankard of foaming ale : — " No more 'curious facts,' 
Eh ? Mr. Gray.— By Jove ! but there will be 
though ; and they shall be recorded in the pages 
of the Public's own Journal !" — Nothing, in na- 
ture, Mr. Gray, is worthless ; and the humblest 
inquirer is entitled to encouragement.] 

Thoughts on the coming " Spring.'''' — Winter 
is fleeing before the conquering hand of Spring. 
The loud-voiced wind rushes past with a joyous 
shout, and the new year cometh on. The stream, 
released from its icy thrall, bounds onward with 
a joyful murmuring, and there is a spirit of liberty 
in the pure air that fills the heart of the rambler 
in the yet leafless wood, with a wild exulting glee. 
The lark soars upward to the clear blue sky, and 
greets us with his song. The blackbird wakes 
sweet echoes in the wood ; the thrush answers 
from the brake. The hedgehog, 

From his coat of leaves unveils his prickly form ;" 
The mole 

" Has awaked from his winter sleep ;" 
and the bat flits about in the dim twilight. Now, 
too, that beauteous smiler of the wood, the sweet 
violet, peeps kindly forth to greet the early morn, 
and breathe its fragrance to the gale. The pale 
primrose blossoms in the copse. The yellow 
daffodil waves in the moist wood, and the trees 
give glorious promise in the swelling buds. The 
hedge too, looks gay with the golden balls of the 
palm ; and the old river glides placidly along 
through the tall rushes, past the marsh-mari- 
golds that wave and clip as the breeze goes by ; 
and from among the withered leaves in the wood, 
the bluebell raises its head, and peeps through 
the boughs above at the azure sky, where the 
rook sails cawing along. Over hill and dale, 
across the dreary moor, comes a sweet murmur. 
It plays with the reeds by the pool, and kisses the 
daisy in the mead. It comes from afar on the 
wings of the wind, and fills the heart with glad- 
ness. The birds in the trees hear it ; the plough- 
man on the open land, the traveller on the hill. 
Through brake and fell, o'er meadow and stream, 
onward it comes ; chid in a robe of eternal green, 
scattering flowers by the way, and bidding the 
earth prepare — the herald of returning spring. 
Hovering over the blossoms of the dandelion, we 
find the brimstone butterfly ; which, allured by 
the warm breath of spring, has left the nook that 
sheltered him the long winter through, to roam 
the mead, and spread the glad tidings of gay 
spring's return. Occasionally, too, we observe the 
gaudy Urticce, fanning her wings on the sunny 
bank, or perchance, fair Cardui will come sailing 
along on the breeze. But their elegant plumage 
is worn and faded ; and their wings shattered by 
the wintry blast. Yet we welcome them with 
joy ; for they call to mind many a charming ram- 

ble, and many a pleasant spot where the delicate 
harebells waved, and the wild-thyme sent up a 
delicious fragrance, — where the lovely scabious 
bent with the weight of the drowsy bee, and the 
air was fraught with sweet dreaming sounds ; the 
corn waved in the broad sunlight, and the soft 
winds came, and went, and sighed, when the day 
was over. — C. Miller. 

Cock-fighting in Liverpool. — I send you, Mr. 
Editor, a Liverpool Mercury of Friday last, in 
which you will find registered the names of thirty- 
two bad characters ; some of them, the vilest 
vagabonds that ever cumbered the earth. I do 
not ask you to copy the details of the disgusting 
doings by this crew ; but merely wish you to raise 
your voice against cock-fighting, and other similar 
abominations. The ring-leader you will perceive, 
was a certain Matthew Walker, of Burlington 
Street. He was fined, very properly, five pounds. 
The other wretches were also fined in smaller or 
larger sums. One of the offenders said — he was 
so fond of the sport, that tchen he died, he should 
have the feathers of a fighting-cock " put into his 
coffin." — W. Jones, Salford. 

[We have not attempted to defile our columns 
by extracting the filthy doings of this wretched 
crew, and their " two hundred supporters." 
There is no necessity for it. We live, fortunately, 
in an age when people practising these brutalities 
become "marked men." Any respectable man 
seen in their company would, and very justly, be 
reckoned as bad as themselves. A " cock fighter" 
in our opinion, is just the very man that would be 
selected to " play first-fiddle " in a case of brutal 

Sagacity of the Log. — The Yorkshire Gazette 
states, Mr. Editor, that an extraordinary instance 
of the sagacity of the canine species (which 
occurred lately in York) has just been communi- 
cated to them. A dog was run over in Walm- 
gate, and sustained a rather serious injury on one 
of his legs. On escaping from his perilous situa- 
tion, where this catastrophe had happened to him, 
the animal proceeded straight to the first drug- 
gist's shop, whence he was in the first instance 
roughly ejected, as an unwelcome intruder. The 
dog, however, was not to be foiled of his saga- 
cious purpose ; and shortly he returned to the 
same shop, threw himself on his back on the floor, 
and extended toward the shopman, with a 
beseeching look, his wounded limb. The person 
who had before used him so roughly, now observed 
that the poor animal's leg had been injured and 
was bleeding; whereupon he proceeded to perform 
the office of the good Samaritan, by ministering to 
the surgical requirements of his naturally dumb — 
though in this case all but speaking, patient. 
When the work of mollifying and binding up his 
wounds was completed, the animal, which had 
been very patient under the operation, sprang to 
his feet, wagged his tail in gratitude, and evinced 
a desire to remain under the roof of his benefac- 
tor, who indulged the poor dog for a time, and 
then dismissed him. — Do you credit the above, 
Mr. Editor, or is it, think you, a random shot from 
a " long bow ? " — William T., Ripon. 

[We do not consider such a thing impossible — 
the more especially, if the dog had ever before 



been operated upon by a medical man. Mr. 
Kent, the celebrated canine surgeon, of Great 
Marylebone Street, has told us of many equally 
remarkable things. Dogs that he has cured once, 
— and whose masters resided at a remote distance, 
have, when again attacked by disease, trotted 
back on three legs to his surgery, and whiningly 
made known to him their need of his further 
assistance. He tells us, too, of their gratitude to 
him, unmistakeably evinced in every action. The 
diseased leg, — suspended from acute pain, has on 
several occasions been presented to Mr. Kent, 
just as the wrist of a patient would be handed to 
a physician about to feel the pulse. If we studied 
animals more than we do, we should love them 
much better than we do.] 

" Headstrong,'" — with a Witness ! — A local 
paper, Mr. Editor, has the following : — " Singular 
fulfilment of a dream. — On Wednesday morning 
week, a man named Edward Woodley, a painter, 
working at the Xetherton station, near Dudley, 
was proceeding to his employment in company 
with his master ; to whom he related that, during 
the past night, he had dreamed that the scaffold- 
ing gave way and precipitated him to the ground. 
Strange enough, during the day, this prediction 
or dream was fully verified by the unfortunate 
dreamer falling ivith a scaffold from a height of 
twenty feet, while painting the goods-shed. The 
man was stunned by the fall, but no bones were 
broken ; which may perhaps be attributed to the 
lucky fact that he fell upon his head. He was 
anabled to proceed to his usual work the next day." 
— This is the first time, Mr Editor, that ever 
I heard of such " a lucky fact." A man falling 
from the height of twenty feet — and a scaffold 
weighing him down to boot, is a sad thing to 
think of. But when we find he is " lucky " 
enough to pitch on his head ; and able to go to 
work afterwards — surely we may " get up a harm- 
less laugh at his expense !" — A Looker on. 

[This man will make his fortune, if he comes 
to London and applies to Mr. Peto.] 

A Blackbird pursued by a Sparrow-hawk. — 
On Monday last, Mr. Editor, in the forenoon, a 
singular occurrence took place at Letham Grange 
House, Edinburgh, the residence of John Hay, 
Esq. While Mr. Hay was engaged writing in his 
library, two panes of the window were simultane- 
ously broken ; and the glass scattered upon his wri- 
ting table, and about the room. Mr. Hay's first 
impression was, that a couple of shots had been 
fired ; occasioning the crash. But on further ex- 
amination, he discovered that a blackbird, which 
had been pursued by a sparrow-hawk, had, in its 
eagerness to escape, dashed through the window, 
and taken shelter, in a terrible state of trepidation 
between two spaniels, which were lying on the rug 
before the fire. It would seem that the hawk had 
been no less anxious to get at its prey, than the 
blackbird to elude its pursuer ; and that it had also 
flown against the window, broken a pane, and pre- 
cipitated itself into the room, at the further end of 
which it lay extended. The poor blackbird, though 
much exhausted, after a time recovered, and was 
set at liberty. In securing the sparrow-hawk, Mr. 
Hay had his hands slightly injured by its talons. 
— E. C., Glasgow, February 1st. 

Electric Cable. — The laying down of the first 
sub-marine cable in the United Slates, and which 
is ultimately intended to connect this country and 
the Continent of Europe with the Continent of 
America, has been successfully completed. The 
cable which forms the first section of the New- 
foundland Electric Telegraph works, has been 
sunk between Cape Tormontine in the province 
of New Brunswick, and Carleton Head. — E. W. 

Pigeons. — I have about twenty pairs of Fancy 
Pigeons, Mr. Editor, confined in a stable. There 
is a loft over it ; and a small enclosure, covered 
with wire netting. My birds are all well paired, 
and build regularly. They also lay regularly. 
After "sitting" a short time, the nest is destroyed 
and the eggs are ejected. This is the case with 
some only. Others sit well, will hatch, and rear 
their young up to a certain age. They then ne- 
glect them, go again to nest, and hatch another 
family. This has now become a " settled state of 
things." I therefore ask our Editor for his ad- 
vice under such trying circumstances. — A Sub- 
scriber, Croydon. 

[There can be no doubt that your stable, and its 
accommodations, are too limited for the large and in- 
creasing number of its tenants. Reduce them one 
half ; and the consequence will be a happier result. 
Study nature in all your movements. Crowded 
rooms amongst our own race, lead to the direst 
evils ; and Pigeons are by no means the most 
" moral" of the feathered tribes, under any circum- 
stances. Thin their ranks ; or let them fly abroad for 
air and exercise. Discontinue hemp seed, and give 
them some "salt cat ;" for the manufacture of which, 
see our second volume, page 268. Let them have 
an abundance of fresh water ; and you will soon find 
a radical change for the better, if you take the hint 
we have thrown out.] 

Directions for Mixing Egg and Bread for 
Birds. — I have found by experience, that a small 
pestle and mortar is the best medium for incorpo- 
rating egg with stale bread. It saves waste, as 
the birds eat all up clean. I never give my birds 
sweet cakes, for fear of their being made with but- 
ter, which, to nestlings in particular, is very hurt- 
ful.— W. C. W. 

Sagacity of the Toad. — You gave a most curious 
account, Mr. Editor, in your second Volume, page 
332, of the habits of a toad, which, being as it was 
most respectably authenticated, I cannot doubt. 
This account has been transferred to the BelVs Mes- 
senger, and from it again into the Farmers' 
Journal. T. G. H., a Correspondent of the latter, 
says in reply : — " This curious account of a pecu- 
liarity in the habits of the toad, reminds me of 
a similar circumstance which occurred this last 
summer : — A small pot, containing a plant of y c o- 
podium densum, stood on a slate platform in a 
small propagating-house. The altered appearance 
of the plant induced me to take it in hand, and ex- 
amine it. To my astonishment. I found a toad had 
uprooted a portion of the plant, and had insinuated 
himself beneath it, into la hollow he had made by 
pressing the soil to fit his body — at least it had 
that appearance. I turned him out of the pot; 
the next day he was there again. I removed his 



cottage to different parts of the house, turned him 
into the garden, took him to the furthest part ; but 
the next day he was constantly in his pet spot, co- 
vered with the Lycopodium like a mantle. How 
he got into the house when the door was kept clos- 
ed, or how he contrived to get on the shelves and 
platforms — which all projected considerably over 
their supports, I never could find out. Have you, 
or any of your correspondents, observed similar 
conduct on the part of this creature ? The neigh- 
borhood where I reside has a great number of 
ponds and pieces of water in it, and we are gene- 
rally overrun with efts, toads and frogs ; but the 
last summer and autumn, I really think I have 
not seen more than a dozen or two, at the most. 
Has this been the case elsewhere ?" — To this the 
Editor makes answer, " We may speak to a point 
on the many interesting facts that come under the 
notice of our correspondent in her own garden. 
We, ourself, know the particular structure, and 
the form of bench referred to, on to which the 
toad constantly found its way. This stage or 
bench is, as stated, formed of slate, with slight 
wooden supports ; and, we believe, nearly four 
feet in height from the floor! The slate, as 
stated, projects over the supports ; and there are 
no ledges of any kind, unless the brick wall supply 
them, which is a common pointed wall. As to 
travelling up the supports, which are small pieces 
of smooth quartering, the thing seems impossible. 
Besides, unless it could travel with its back down- 
wards, it could not pass from the supports to the 
edge of the slate, which projects several inches 
beyond the upper end of the supports. So im- 
probable, indeed, are the facts which we have 
here recorded, that the mind seems anxious to 
discover some mode of throwing suspicion upon 
the veracity of the witness. But here we, at 
least, find no relief to our perplexity. Our corres- 
pondent is not a tyro, but a long and tried student 
in the world of nature. We know the person ; we 
know the place ; we believe in the facts stated ; 
but we can offer no solution whatever, as to the 
precise nature of the faculties with which nature 
has endued and fitted this singular reptile, so that 
it can accomplish what seems to be a mechanical 
impossibility. Whether these faculties be reason, 
instinct, habit, or some other quality, we venture 
no opinion. There are, possibly, few classes of 
living creatures which, as in the case of this little 
home-sick toad, do not, in their own way, enunciate 
as emphatically as man himself, their full sympathy 
with both the moral and the sentiment of " Home, 
sweet home!" What think you of the above, 

Mr Editor ? — Louisa L , Sidmouth. 

[We imagine, Mademoiselle, that the door or 
window must have been accidentally left open for 
a minute or two. The sagacious reptile, watching 
his opportunity, was, no doubt, speedily concealed 
from sight, and safely in the room. How he 
climbed the supports, we know not ; but we have 
" heard" of such a thing being done. The " pro- 
jections" which he must have passed under, and 
over, leave us " in amazement lost."] 

11 Scent" as applied to Foxes. — There are two 
curious letters, Mr. Editor, on the subject of 
" scent," in a new and very interesting paper, 
called the Field. I send them to you, as being en- 
titled to a registration in our own Journal. The 

one by " Umbra" is as follows : — " Much has been 
said and written about scent. There cannot be a 
question, that the large number of foxes which have 
been killed this season, have, in a great degree, 
fallen victims to good scent. The saturated state 
of the land, and the mild state of the atmosphere 
hanging lazily over its mellowed surface, have, in 
my opinion, been highly favorable to scent. The 
state of body of the animal has, no doubt, a great 
deal to do with a good scenting dog. His pores 
are more open, and his flesh gives a little ; and is 
less firm in close weather than in weather more 
bracing. In confirmation of this, I have a tame 
fox chained on a flag floor, in a yard which is 
daily washed down, and kept very clean ; and I 
find that on some days the animal emits a much 
greater scent than on others. I am satisfied that 
the state of body of the animal has much to do 
with scent, but it is a subject, the inscrutable 
nature of which, must ever leave it a mystery. 
The floods, too, have rather bothered the foxes 
this season, and have baulked their knowledge of 
country. Some seventy years ago, it was the 
practice to begin hunting, almost at day-break, 
and with the heavy hounds and horses of that 
day, to hunt — really to hunt — the fox by dint of 
scent and sticking to him. Who knows whether 
disturbing the animal immediately after his break- 
fast, at six o'clock in the morning, did not make 
him labor under repletion, and throw behind him 
a much stronger scent than if he had been suffered 
to repose and digest his food, until awakened at 
the fashionable hour of our present meets ? " 

The second, by " Hardwicke," runs thus : — " In 
your article, headed "Hunting," towards the 
conclusion, you say, "One of the most remarkable 
features of the present season, is the immense 
number of foxes that have turned up ; and that, 
too, in countries, which, at the close of the last 
season were supposed to be short of them." Such 
is the case in the country I hunt in, and the 
simple cause is this. The two previous seasons 
being remarkably dry, the numerous drains afforded 
comfortable lodging for many a good wild fox, 
who seldom lay above ground in the day. There 
is not now a drain in our country where a fox can 
put his head, and it will be long ere they are dry 
enough for lodging. How do you account for a 
scent, on days when a fox has set sail with the 
wind blowing a hurricane behind him, and a 
pelting pitiless storm in his favor ? On many 
such days in the present season, hounds have run 
hard, and frequently killed their fox. I have 
heard several gentlemen converse on the subject, 
but do not coincide in their conclusion. I ask 
for information. My own humble opinion is, and 
it is my own, that the immense quantity of rain 
which has been falling, almost daily, for several 
months past, has so washed and purified the soil, 
that it presents an untainted surface. This, 
consequently, retains the scent of a fox recently 
passing over it, less combined with the noxious 
vapors from manure, the scent of cattle, game, 
etc., than is usual. I put on my first cap in 1818, 
and have ever since remarked that a wet season 
was generally favorable to hunting, in more 
countries than one." — It would appear, Mr. 
Editor, from this, that a fox does invariably give 
forth a peculiar odor, both from his person proper 
and from his footsteps. I have always imagined 



this to be the case, and the above tends to confirm 
the fact. — A Country Gentleman. 

[We quite agree with you ; and cannot imagine 
the possibility of any hounds being at fault in the 
matter of scent, unless intervening water has 
destroyed it.] 

Epitaphs — You have already written your own 
epitaph ; and a very lovely one it is (see Vol. II., 
page 154), my dear Mr. Editor. I have seen no- 
thing that pleases me half so well. The following, 
however, by Eliza Cook, is very sweet ; and I should 
like, s'il vous plait, to see it registered in our 
own Journal. It carries a noble " moral" with 
it. — Dew-drop. 

"When the cold tablet bears my fading name, 
Let no long record boast its worth or fame. 
No ! the plain monument that Truth would raise, 
Would give far more of censure than of praise. 

Let no unholy murmur note my life, 
As " one dark scene of sorrow, pain, or strife ;" 
Though there's another world of purer bliss, 
The heart that's grateful thanks a God in this. 

Strangers may pause, to mark who dwells below — 
Perchance a friend may read, perchance a foe ; 
What can they read ? — that Jov, Affection, 

^ Trust, 
Hate, Scorn, and Malice, — all end in " dust 
to dust !" 

[Thanks, noble-hearted Dew-drop. Thy heart 
is pure as thy name. Thy thoughts are holy, — 
thy aim God-like. If, instead of the fulsome adu- 
lation, exaggerated praises, and vulgar sentiments, 
that so universally disfigure the tomb-stones in our 
public cemeteries, the glory were given to God 
instead of to ourselves, all would be well. But we 
find, everywhere, the " ruling passion strong in 
death." To walk through Kensall Green Ceme- 
tery, and notice the " Esquires" ostentatiously and 
deeply graven on the stones ; and the recorded 
"virtues" of many men, whose pride and follies 
whilst living knew no bounds — is disgusting in- 
deed ! Many an hour have we spent in this, and 
other similar places ; marvelling the while at 
the vile taste of sorrowing relatives, who could 
paint such wilful falsehoods on a stone, and read 
them afterwards with a serious countenance. The 
human heart has been said, by a Wise man, to be 
"deceitful above all things." Here, if no where 
else, have we most convincing proofs of the truth 
of the saying. The prince and the rich man hate all 
below them. This is said to be " natural." Is 
it ! See the wealthy and the poor, side by side, in 
the cold ground, — and if we have the power to 
"think," let us exercise it. We must — aye must 
say " amen !" to Eliza Cook's wise remark ; and 
bow in humble resignation to our universal doom 
— " dust to dust !"] 

Mice, Cats, and Birds. — I am no " Bachelor of 
Arts," my dear sir, and yet am I a regular old 
bachelor. [Fie ! for confessing such a sad fact !] 
I had a cat, — she is dead. Peace to her ashes ! 
Since Kitty's death, the mice have it all their 
own way. My cheese disappears ; my flowers are 
nibbled off; my sugar is poisoned; my bread is 
pawed about, and all the eatables are "mousy." 

I am positively half-starved ; and living as I do at 
least a mile from an} 7 shop, I am often put to it to 
get a meal. I set traps for them. They won't 
go in ! cunning Isaacs ! They saw one of their 
tribe thus sacrificed some time ago, — and ever 
since, they have been " up to trap." I can't 
sleep for them. And then my birds — my poor 
dear canaries, linnets, and goldfinches ! The mice 
revel in their cages, and foul all their food. I sus- 
pend their cages from the ceiling. What of that ? 
The enemy scales the bookcase ; ;and, with a sin- 
gle bound, is "at his desired haven " Yes, Mr. 
Editor, and they come out, while I am quietly 
seated before the fire ; and they play upon the 
hearth. And yet you say — I must not keep a cat ! 
How then shall I get rid of the mice, and emanci- 
pate my poor little birds from their tyranny ? — 

[Heark'e, Dolorosus. Compromise the matter. 
A cat is out of the question ; but the mice must 
die. Cut two slices of thin bread ; and butter 
them well. Rub each slice of bread, on the but- 
tered side, with a little common carbonate of 
barytes (procurable at any druggist's shop) ; and 
then place the bread and butter, sandwich fashion, 
together. Leave this in sections, about the room 
and stair-case. It will do its own work, and you 
will be deprived of your victims in a single day. 
There is no cruelty in this. Their death is in- 
stantaneous. This visitation serves you right, 
for being " an old bachelor." Change your con- 
dition, Sir ; and then you will not only be free 
from mice, but a happy, jolly fellow to boot.] 

Depth of the Ocean. — At a recent meeting of 
the Royal Society, the Earl of Enniskillen, vice 
president, in the chair, a very interesting com- 
munication from Capt. Denham, R.N., of her 
Majesty's ship Herald, was read. Capt. Denham 
is engaged on a scientific voyage in the above 
ship ; and among other subjects, he was particu- 
larly enjoined to endeavor on favorable occasions 
to ascertain the depth of the ocean. The present 
communication gives an account of a deep sea 
sounding in 7706 fathoms in 36 deg. 49 min. 
south latitude, and 37 deg. 6 min. west longitude. 
The sounding was obtained on a calm day, Octo- 
ber 30, 1852, in the passage from Rio de Janeiro 
to the Cape of Good Hope. The sounding line 
was l-10th of an inch in diameter, laid in one 
length, and weighing, when dry, lib. for every 
hundred fathoms. Capt. Denham received from 
Commodore M'Keevor, of the United States navy, 
commanding the Congress frigate, 15,000 fathoms 
of this line, 10,000 fathoms on one reel and 5000 
on another, and he considers it to have been ad- 
mirably adapted for the purpose for which it was 
made and to which it was applied. The plummet 
weighed 91b., and was 11 inches long and 1-7 inch 
in diameter. When 7706 fathoms had rim off the 
reel, the sea-bottom was reached. Captain Denham 
states that Lieut. Hutcheson and himself, in sepa- 
rate boats, with their own hands, drew the plum- 
met up 50 fathoms several times ; and after it had 
renewed its descent, it stopped on each occasion 
abruptly at the original mark to a fathom, and 
would not take another turn off the reel. The 
whole time taken by the plummet in descending 
to this amazing depth of 7706 fathoms, or 7-7 
geographical miles of 60 to a degree, was 9 hours 

24 minutes aud 45 seconds. The highest summits 
of the Himalaya are little more than 28,000 feet, 
or 4.7 geographical miles above the sea. The sea 
bottom has therefore depths greatly exceeding the 
elevation of the highest pinnacle above its surface. 
The strength of the line, tried before the sounding, 
was found to be equal to bear 72 lb. in air. The 
7706 fathoms which ran out, weighed when dry 
77 lb. exclusive of the plummet. Great care was 
taken, in the endeavor to bring the plummet again 
to the surface,to show the nature of the bottom ; 
but while carefully reeling in, the line broke at 
140 fathoms below the water line, carrying away 
the thermometer which had been attached to it at 
3000 fathoms. This sounding is the deepest that 
has ever been made. — A Lover of Science. 

On the Larva 3 , of Insects. — Allow me, Mr. Editor, 
to ask your worthy correspondent, " Cerura," a 
few questions. How does he set to work to coax 
his Cossus ligniperda to make his chrysalis ? I 
have brought up many hundreds, and have rarely 
failed with them. I am inclined to think, from 
what he states, that Cossus died in consequence 
of his having been too soon removed from his 
quarters in the willow-tree, If " Cerura" could 
pass a few minutes with Bombyx Pittiocampa, he 
would never again complain of the irritation pro- 
duced by caja. Should " Cerura" be so fortunate 
as to secure some more eggs of the sphinx ( the 
same as those he secured last year from Hertford- 
shire), and would let me have a few through the 
entremise of our Editor, I will engage to return 
him, through the same entremise, every cater- 
pillar I might succeed in bringing up. Having 
reared hundreds and hundreds, it is possible my 
plan of proceeding may be more successful than 
his ; and my object would not be to obtain the 
perfect insect ( which in all probability I possess), 
but to ascertain what it is ; comparing the proceed- 
ing with former similar ones. " Cerura" might 
rely on having the full benefit of my success, 
should I be successful. With respect to Vinula, 
" Cerura" may safely drop the query. It admits 
of no doubt whatever. I can assure him, from pain- 
ful personal experience, that Vinula not only has 
the power but very often exercises it, of ejecting an 
acrid, burning liquid, when irritated; and he is a 
most unerring marksman, nearly as dead a shot 
as a Swiss carabinier. He always aims at the eye. 
I was once examining a colony, which was being 
brought up ; and I suppose gave offence to one of 
the party, for he discharged the acrid liquid 
straight into the corner of my eye, causing a 
very severe and painful smarting. This I did not 
lose for three days, although I constantly bathed 
the eye. Frere Jean (so often mentioned by 
" Faro," in his autobiography) once received a 
similar discharge from a Vinula which he was 
bringing to me, and which I presume he was han- 
dling rather more roughly than was prudent. The 
old " Papa des Papillons" ( also mentioned by 
" Fixo,") has more than once told me of his having 
received similar discharges, and experienced simi- 
lar effects. I do not wish " Cerura" to be able, in 
this instance, to speak from actual experience. No ; 
he may be content to take my word for it. He may 
rest assured he will never forget it, if ever he 
should receive a shot from a Vinula. I suspect 
his caterpillar of " Ligustri" perished in conse- 

quence of having been struck by some ichneumon. 
I do not, however, think a flower-pot a very good 
thing for so large a caterpillar as that of " Ligus- 
tri." It is too narrow at the bottom ; five or six 
inches of earth is quite sufficient, and that should 
be bog earth, and sifted. These remarks are 
kindly offered, and will, no doubt, be as kindly re- 
ceived. Let me now, Mr. Editor, congratulate 
you on the new and greatly improved features of our 
Journal, both within and without. It is per- 
fectly unique of its kind ; full of the most varied 
and interesting information, — the more valuable 
because simple and true. Nor should the exterior 
be overlooked. It is chaste and ornamental, 
showing that our Editor wishes to please even in 
external trifles. May a long and happy life be 
his ! — Bombyx Atlas, Tottenham, Feb. 16. 

The African Land Tortoise. — Do ask some 
of your readers, Mr. Editor, to tell me about the 
habits and requirements of this little creature. If 
they require much care and warmth, and how 
they should be fed and treated during the winter, 
etc.? — Grace Fondlove, Gloucester. 

Novel hind of Exportation to Australia, — 

u Haws." — A brisk trade has been going on in 

| Lincolnshire in " haws," for exportation to Aus- 

: tralia ; to form the future quickset hedges of that 

country. — James It. 

Horse-hair gifted with Life — a Query. — 
Permit me. Mr. Editor, to draw your attention 
to the following very strange story, which I extract 
from " The Life and Correspondence of Pobert 
Southey, edited by the Pie v. Charles Cuthbert 
Southey." It occurs in a letter to Dr. Southey, 
vol. 4, p. 35.) I am quite at a loss to make any- 
thing of it. Surely the Laureate, philosopher as 
he was, must have been deceived ? If he was not — 
then, in the name of science, what was the cause 
and meaning of that which he saw? It reminds 
one of the directions given in the Zoological works 
of the middle ages, for turning flies into bees ! 
" You must have heard the vulgar notion that a 
horse-hair, plucked out by the root and put in 
water, becomes alive in a few days. The boys at 
Brathay repeatedly told their mother it was true ; 
that they had tried it themselves, and seen it tried. 
Her reply was, ' show it me, and I will believe it.' 
While we were there, last week, in came Owen, 
with two of these creatures in a bottle. Words- 
worth was there ; and, to our utter and unutterable 
astonishment, did the boys try to convince us that 
these long, thin, black worms were their own 
manufacture, by the old receipt ! They laid hold 
of them by the middle, while they writhed like 
eels ; and stripping them with their nails, down on 
each side, actually lay bare the horse-hair in the 
middle, which seemed to serve as the backbone of 
the creature, or substratum of living matter which 
had collected round it. Wordsworth and I, should 
have supposed that it was a collection of animal- 
culae round the hair (which, however, would only 
be changing the nature of the wonder), if we could 
in any way have accounted for the motion upon 
this theory. But the motion was that of a snake. 
We could perceive no head, but something very 
like the root of the hair ; and, for want of glasses, 
could distinguish no parts. The creature, or 



whatever else you may please to call it, is black, 
or dark brown, and about the girth of a fiddle- 
string." If any correspondent of our Jour- 
nal can throw light upon this marvel, or give 
reference to others of a like class, they will be 
conferring a favor on — K. P. D. E. 

The Larva of Insects. — I am not aware that 
any one has succeeded in rearing Lasiocampa 
rabi, from the larva state. Last October, I took a 
number of the caterpillars of this moth ; but all my 
endeavors to rear them through the winter have 
proved vain. I fed them on bramble and willow, 
so long as they were procurable. I then obtained 
some light mould, similar to that found on com- 
mons. This I covered with turf and dry leaves ; 
placing it afterwards ( with the larvae) in the open 
air. Some coiled themselves under the turf; 
others among the leaves. Eventually, however, 
the greater number shrivelled up and died. I was 
thus compelled to give the rest their liberty, having 
no way of rearing them. During the month of 
October, they may be found on commons, basking 
in the sun. They retire, if the day be dull and 
cloudy, to the shelter of bushes ; where it appears 
they lie dormant till spring. The little success 
experienced in rearing this moth, combined with 
its strong rapid flight, and consequent difficulty 
of capture, causes it to be comparatively rare. 
Some of your entomological correspondents may 
perhaps have been more fortunate than myself, 
and be able to throw some light on the subject. 
I experienced much the same difficulty in rearing 
the larvae of Clisiocampa Nerestria, till I found 
that they require to be fed with water, after the 
manner of Odonestis Potatoria. I can confirm 
the statement made by your correspondent, " Ce- 
rura" relative to the rash produced by handling 
the larvce of the great tiger moth, and have no- 
ticed the same circumstance in the larvae of Va- 
nessa Urticce, Odonestis Potatoria, and some 
others. — C. Miller, Hackney. 

Ravages by Insects. — I am induced, Mr. Edi- 
tor, to send you an accotmt of the following remark- 
able fact, in the hope that you or some of your 
readers may be able in a measure to explain it. 
Some years ago, I set out with three or four more, 
to enjoy a summer evening's walk in that lovely 
spot, Sutton Park. It was before the common was 
enclosed, or a race course contemplated. The path 
we took was then generally known as the road to 
" Kirby's Mill." Whoever has once been there, will 
remember that for some distance the way is through 
the wood, and that a rather wide road divides the 
trees on each side. Arrived at that part, a sight 
presented itself, as singular as many of the fabled 
deeds of fairies. On one side the trees were in all 
the rich luxuriance of summer, whilst on the other 
not a vestige of foliage remained. Nor did the 
trees wear the naked aspect of winter ; they were 
completely veiled in a delicate fine web, that was 
spread from spray to spray, and hung gracefully 
from the branches. Every tree, for a considerable 
distance, was the same ; but not a trace of any 
thing of the kind appeared on the opposite side of 
the road. By what description of caterpillar such 
havoc was made, or what particular tribe travels in 
such multitudes, I know not. I am no entomolo- 
gist ; and my ignorance of that study must plead 

my apology for the above imperfect description. 
Think not, however, Mr. Editor, that the insect 
world is devoid of interest to me; far from it, 
but I have ever felt great reluctance " to shorten 
life so brief as theirs," and consequently never col- 
lected any by way of study. — Puss. 

My Dog " Punch.'"' 1 — Whilst thinking for an object 
on which to found some notes for your popular 
Journal, my eyes rested on my dog " Punch," — a 
rough Scotch terrier, comfortably snoozing on the 
hearth rug; and him I at once determined to 
immortalise in your pages. Punch had the mis- 
fortune to be born alone, i.e., he was an only son, 
and therefore spoiled by every one. I shall not, 
however, now give his early history, as perhaps 
he may himself be infected with the cacoetlies scri- 
bendi, and some day present his autobiography to 
the world, in imitation of your correspondent 
" Fino." Punch, like his master, and your corres- 
pondent " Fino," has a turn for entomology ;^ but 
instead of preserving, he at once eats his captives. 
Being one day in the garden, he espied the bee- 
hives, and imagined no doubt that he had dis- 
covered a living larder — a perfect " California" of 
tid-bits. But he was quickly undeceived. No 
sooner had he entombed one luckless lee, than angry 
hosts assailed him ; and the old fable of ' ' Bruin 
and the Bees " was quite realised. Snapping was 
useless ; growls," both loud and deep," availed him 
nothing ; and even rolling on the ground did little 
good. " From the end of his nose to the tip of 
his tail," as the showman says, was a living mass 
of winged furies ; so Punch thought that " discre- 
tion was the better part of valor," and fled. In 
so doing however, he nearly involved his master, 
as he also had to " turn and flee." Punch touches 
the bees no more ; and if eyer in the garden 
(which is but seldom as we keep a hedgehog), 
keeps a most respectful distance ; remembering 
doubtless, in his inmost soul, his battle with the 
bees. Punch is a discriminator of persons ; and, 
as is the way of the world, the purple and fine 
linen are " all" to him. The well-to-do he wel- 
comes with a hearty wag of his tail, whilst^ the 
poor wandering ragged vagrant he follows with a 
suspicious look and noiseless step, — oftentimes 
making his teeth intimately acquainted with their 
poor defenceless heels. Alas, alas! Punch in 
this resembles human nature, which looks only to 
the outside and is therefore often in the wrong. I 
have many times punished him for this unjustifi- 
able oppression, but he will do it. So I must e'en 
submit. As I live in town, and Punch in the 
country, we see each other but seldom ; but at these 
times our joy is excessive. I say " our," for I 
think my delight fully equals Punch's, and with 
us it is, — " love me, love my dog." By day he 
trots about with me, and by night insists upon 
sleeping in the same room with me. If taken 
down to the kitchen, he quietly " in the dead of 
the night" creeps up, " bounces" open my door, 
and rushes frantically in upon me. Sunday he 
respects rigidly ; and cannot be induced to accom- 
pany us when going to Church. With hanging 
head and drooping ears he sadly sees us depart, 
but will not come out. On week days, who so ea- 
ger as Punch to go for a stroll through the fields, 
where perchance he may waylay a hare or sur- 
prise a rabbit, or raise a covey of whirring par- 



tridges ? Down we go along the " burn" ( brook), 
where we may see the water hen dropping off her 
nest among the flags, and swimming silently down 
stream, underneath water ; or hear the water rat 
plumping off the bank, and see him making for his 
hole on the other side. " After him, Punch !" but 
it's no use now, for Don Whiskerandos has disap- 
peared before one can say " Jack Robinson." Now 
through the woods we go ; where we hear the 
heavy flap of the startled wood-pigeon, as ri- 
sing from her frail apology for a nest, she leaves 
exposed her two beautiful eggs ; or the impudent 
chatter of the magpie, just disturbed perchance 
from a feast on poor " Robin Redbreast's" callow 
young. And when returning from such walks, 
Punch and I rest in a snug room, by a cosy fire, 
we lie and dream, and think ( I at least) how long 
happy companionship like this shall be ours ! — J.B. 
M., Glasgow. 

Naturalist Clubs. — I observe the following, Mr. 
Editor, in the Worcester Herald : — " Local in- 
stitutions of this instructive and pleasing kind 
have now been established in this country, in 
Herefordshire, and in Gloucestershire ; with some- 
thing of a corresponding or federal feature. There 
is the Woolhope in Herefordshire, the Cotswold 
in Gloucestershire, and the Malvern in Worcester- 
shire. The latter held its first annual meeting on 
the 3rd of February last, at Hardwicke Court, the 
seat of Barwick Baker, Esq., president. The 
Eastnor meeting is announced to be held on the 
3rd of June." It is pleasing, Mr. Editor, — is it 
not ? to see the taste for Natural History spread- 
ing so widely. — Sarah Ingledew, Bath. 

[It is indeed ; and we shall be happy to pro- 
mote the best interests of these, and similar in- 
stitutions, by publishing any curious and remark- 
able particulars that may be brought under their 

° Diogenes" among the Publishers. — I have a 
grave charge, Mr. Editor, to bring against your 
printer, for making me appear foolish before the 
world — a matter on which a " Quiz" is naturally 
sensitive ! I told you, in my last, (see p. 61), that 
" Diogenes" had been in Paternoster Row a full 
month, hunting, vainly, to find an "honest book- 
seller ;" and I spoke, at the same time, of Pater- 
noster Row being recorded, in history, as u the 
grave of poor authors" — strangling them in their 
birth, and. ruining all their prospects. Your 
printer may be, for aught I know, " a wag." At 
all events he printed the word grave, " grove ;" on 
the principle, I suppose, of " lucus a non lucendo !" 
Still he ought not to pass off his waggery at my 
expense. Paternoster Row has nothing green 
about it ; as you and Our Journal know, but too 
well. They bury, in their narrow grave, every- 
thing they dislike ; and should "a poor author" 
survive, his life is sustained by " a miracle." Do 
just set the matter right, for propriety's sake ; lest 
the worthy " Diogenes" — whom may God still 
speed in his search ! [Amen !] should turn his 
lantern upon us honest men, and catch us tripping 
— Quiz, Cheapside. 

[Quiz ! you are a funny fellow ; but we suppose 
we must humor you, even though we incur the 
charge of ill-nature for so doing. We are glad 
you have combed our printer's hair for him. He 

will heed it more from you, than from ourself. The 
error, though palpable, was a silly one, and we 
regret its occurrence. We will take care, this 
time, that there shall be no more "joking" upon 
so " grave" a subject.] 

Select Specimens of Wood Engraving. — Mr. 
George Dorrington, the celebrated engraver on 
wood, has just sent us a very neat specimen book, 
containing ample evidence of his varied talent as 
an artist and engraver. Being extensively em- 
ployed by the newspaper press, and publishers 
generally, he has force sufficient to enable him to 
compete with the cheapest in the trade ; whilst he 
can, if needs be, rival the most expensive in ability, 
and at a much lower charge than is usually de- 
manded. His address is Ampton Street, Gray's 
Inn Road. 

Melting Snow with Salt. — Persons are in the ha- 
bit of sprinkling salt upon snow before their doors. 
They could not do a more silly or injurious thing. 
The result is, to change dry snow or ice at the 
temperature of 32° to brine at 0. The injurious 
effect of damp upon the feet at this excessive de- 
gree of cold, is likely to be extreme. If, then, 
any one does sprinkle salt upon snow in the street, 
he ought to feel it a matter of conscience to sweep 
it away immediately. — Faraday. 

Heraldic Figures. — Will you kindly tell me, 
Sir, through the medium of Our Journal, where 
I shall be able to procure plaster figures of warriors 
and other heraldic objects, painted and bronzed ? 
Many months ago, I saw an advertisement of the 
kind, but quite forget the address of the advertiser. 
As I am a constant reader of your's, I ask this 
little courtesy at your hand, without apology. — 
Eleanor T. 

[We are happy, fair Eleanor, to be able to answer 
your question. These figures are executed by 
Mr. John Mabley, No. 9, Wellington Street 
North, Strand, who, we believe, keeps a variety 
of them on sale. We have frequently admired 
them whilst passing the window.] 



The notoriety attached to this place of harm- 
less amusement, has not abated. It has re-opened 
for its third season ; and as of yore, is rich in all 
that can interest the young and old. It is pleas- 
ing to hear the irrepressible mirth of the happy 
children, as they innocently ask, — " How does he 
do it ?" Mr. Wellington Young, however, does 
not tell his secrets ; but he sends his audience 
home fully impressed with the idea that he is a 
conjuror ; and a conjuror of no common kind. His 
adroitness and science are remarkable. The pro- 
gramme is in two parts. Between these, an 
Indian Juggler Dak-Ka by name, goes through 
some most extraordinary performances ; and the 
evening terminates right pleasantly at an early 
hour. Messrs. Avenan and Smith have catered 
well for our juveniles. May they reap the benefit 
due to their enterprise ! 





Come home ! 
Would I could Bend my spirit o'er the deep, 
Would I could wing it like a bird to thee, 
To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep 
With these unwearying words of melody — 
Brother, come home ! 

Come home ! 
Come to the hearts that love thee, to the eyes 
That beam in brightness but to gladden thine ; 
Come, where fond thoughts, like holiest incense 
Where cherish 'd memory rears her altar's 
shrine — 

Brother, come home ! 

Come home ! 
Come to the hearth-stone of thy earlier days, 

Come to the ark, like the o'er-wearied dove ; 
Come, with the sun-light of thy heart's warm 
Come to the fire-side circle of thy love — 

Brother, come home ! 

Come home ! 
It is not home without thee — the lone seat 

Is still unclaim'd where thou wert wont to be ; 
In every echo of returning feet, 

In vain we list for what should herald thee — 
Brother, come home ! 

Come home ! 
We've nursed for thee the sunny buds of spring, 
Watch'd every germ a full-blown iiow'ret 
rear ; 
Saw o'er their bloom the chilly winter fling 
Its icy garlands, and thou art not here — 

Brother, come home ! 

Come home ! 
Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep, 

Would I could wing it like a bird to thee, 
To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep 
With these unwearying words of melody — 
Brother, come home ! 




Oh ! tell me the form of the soft Summer Air, 
That tosses so gently the curls of my hair ; 
It breathes on my lips, and it fans my warm cheek, 
But it gives me no answer, tho' often I speak. 
I feel it play o'er me, refreshing and light, 
And yet cannot catch it — because I've no sight ! 

And Music, what is it? and where does it dwell? 
I sink and I mount with it's cadence and swell. 
I am thrill'd to the heart with the ravishing strain, 
Till pleasure excessive seems turning to pain. 
Now what the bright colors of music maybe, 
Will any one tell me ? — for I cannot see ! 

The odors of flowers, now hovering nigh — 
What are they ? on what kind of wings do they fly ? 
Are they bright shining angelf/hat come to delight 
A poor little child that knows nothing of sight ? 
The face of the Sun never comes to my mind — 
Oh ! tell me what light is ? — alas ! I am blind ! 

" Lavender, sweet Lavender ! " 
With " Cherry Ripe ! " is coming ; 

While the droning beetles whirr, 
And merry bees are humming. 

" Lavender, sweet Lavender ! " 

Oh, pleasant is the crying ; 
Wliile the rose-leaves scarcely stir, 

And downy moths are flying. 

Oh, dearly do I love " old cries,' ' 

Your " Lilies all a-blowing ! " 
Your blossoms blue still wet with dew, 

" Sweet Violets all a-growing ! " 

Oh, happy were the days, methinks, 

In truth the best of any, 
When " Perriwinkles, w T inkle, winks ! " 

Allured my last lone penny. 

Oh, what had I to do with cares, 
That bring the frown and furrow, 

When " Walnuts," and " Fine mellow pears," 
Beat Catalani thorough ? 

Full dearly do I love <{ old cries," 

And always turn to hear them ; 
And though they cause me some few sighs, 

Those sighs do but endear them. 

My heart is like the fair sea-shell, 

There's music ever in it ; 
Though bleak the shore where it may dwell, 

Some power still lives to w T in it. 

When music fills the shell no more, 
'Twill be all crushed and scattered ; 

And when this heart's wild tone is o'er, 
'Twill be all cold and shattered. 

Oh, vain will be the hope to break 
Its last and dreamless slumbers, 

When " old cries" come, and fail to wake 
Its deep and fairy numbers ! 



What do they say, sweet girl ? 1 know no tongue 

No mystic art those gentle things declare ; 
I ne'er could trace the schoolman's trick among 

Created things, so delicate and rare ! 
What say they? Pry 'thee ! why they are themselves 

But bright thoughts syllabled to shape and hue, 
The tongue that erst was spoken by the elves, 

When tenderness as yet within the world was new. 

And oh, do not their soft and starry eyes — 

Now bent to earth, to Heaven now meekly 
Their incense fainting as it seeks the skies, 

Yet still from earth with freshening hope re- 
ceding — 
Say, do not these to every heart declare, 

With all the silent eloquence of truth, 
The language that they speak is Nature's prayer, 

To give her back those spotless days of youth ? 




{Continued from page 371, Vol.11.) 

Out on our wretched falsehood ! studied, cold — 
Are we not like that actor of old time, 
Who wore his mask so long, his features took 
Its likeness ? j j> j;_ j^ 

OUBTLESS, my Dear Sir, 
you will permit me to pre- 
face this division of our 
subject, with a few apposite 
remarks on Truth, copied 
from "The Petrel." The 
pages of our Journal are 
so pre-eminently distinguished for the love 
of truth, and hatred of falsehood, that I should 
indeed insult you were I to volunteer an 
apology for my request : — 

Truthfulness is beyond all price. No crime, 
however atrocious, makes such wild havoc with 
human happiness as falsehood, which sheds a vile, 
insidious venom through all the thousand ramifi- 
cations of social hopes and fears : joys and sorrows, 
— aggravating every evil, blighting every blessing. 
Oh, that men would bear in mind that Truth is 
the very spirit of God ! It blesseth him who scru- 
pulously adheres to it. It enables him to shed 
peace and confidence around him daily, hourly, 
momentarily ; whilst it brings to himself peace of 
mind and self-esteem. 

Falsehood, on the other hand, is the curse of 
social life. It is the peculiar attribute of Satan — 
the brand with which hemarkshis besotted slaves 
so distinctly, that he who runs may read. 

Truths, such as these, Mr. Editor, few will 
venture to depart from. All persons " pro- 
fess" to love truth, and hate falsehood ; and 
it would be high treason to question their 
sincerity. Yet do we daily see these same 
people virtually and habitually violating the 
very principles they uphold ! Let me restrict 
myself to one instance only — and that, a too 
familiar one. 

You have, more than once, pointed out the 
incalculable injury that arises from placing 
children in the care of servants unworthy of 
the trust. Trite as the subject may be, it is 
one which it behoves every thinking person 
to agitate, until some improvement in the pre- 
sent lamentable system shall have taken place. 
How is it, let me ask, that the majority of 
these " domestic machines" possess not a 
single quality — not even that of good temper, 
to fit them for their duty ? How is it, that in 
all other departments the same well-grounded 
complaints exist ? 

There can be but one proper answer. The 
evils complained of, have their rise in the 
unthinking (unfeeling ?) practice of giving 
servants false characters ; or if not false, at all 
events characters that are " not true." In 
ninety-nine cases out of every hundred, the 
real cause of dismissal is not stated, either by 

the person discharged, or the person who 
has discharged her. The motive of each is 
but too apparent. Both parties are equally 
afraid of each other; and so far, act in 

Let us pause here one moment ; for false 
characters are a national evil. That they are 
so readily obtainable, is a disgrace to society, 
who owe a duty to each other. Ladies really 
should render each other a more acceptable 
service. I readily grant that as things are, 
however painfully conscious a lady may be of 
the responsibility she incurs whilst giving a 
character which enables a bad servant to enter 
another family ; yet she would scarcely be 
justified in entailing upon herself and others, 
the annoyances which a refusal would doubt- 
less incur.* No diplomacy, I believe, has 
yet been found equal to the combination of 
strict regard to truth, with immunity from un- 
pleasant consequences. 

Some time since, on being applied to for the 
character of a most undeserving person, I gave 
one so laconic, that it seemed improbable an 
engagement would be obtained by means of it. 
This was my object ; for the situation was 
one of some trust, in the household of an 
elderly invalid lady. Calling a short time 
subsequently, to learn the result, I found to 
my dismay that the very conciseness of my 
note bad been construed favorably ! Her dis- 
missal soon took place, and the same character 
was restored to her. In her next application, 
she was not so fortunate. She therefore re- 
turned to me, and complained of the ineffi- 
ciency of the document I had written. What 
was I to do ? She forced her way into a sick 
chamber, and refused to leave it ! I had no 
alternative, but to give her an other, f 

I pass over individual experiences — of one 
house being robbed, and another set on fire. 
Also of our having left(for a few days) at home, 
a pet canary — an old bird, but in perfect health 
and song, and dearer to me than any other, of 
however much greater intrinsic value he 
might be. On our return, we indeed found a 
bird ; but a mute had been substituted for our 
stolen favorite ! It is not so very long, since 
I was commissioned to leave a note of cer- 

* Gentle Forestiera ! permit us to remark, that 
we cannot allow this plea. Nor do you, in your 
inmost soul. The greater and more disagreeable 
the duty we have to perform, the more noble the 
sacrifice made in the performance of it. We shall 
live to hear you readily acknowledge this. — 
Ed. K. J. 

f Here again we must enter a firm protest against 
your course of action. You were painfully situated, 
we grant ; but you should have at once sent your 
servant for a policeman, and have gently handed 
the intruder over to his care. In law, no persons 
can be compelled to give their discharged servants 
a character ; but if they give it, it -must be just 
and true. — Ed. K. J. 

Vol. Ill— 9. 



tain importance at a lady's house in London. 
She had gone to the country, and I was unable 
to acquit myself of my promise — simply be- 
cause, on three several and separate occasions, 
nobody appeared to answer the door ! 

A circumstance, which I will now relate, 
deserves serious consideration. A servant, 
in a country establishment, made herself the 
terror of the servants' hall — from the stable- 
keeper to the butler inclusive, by her violent 
conduct and atrocious language. Her dismis- 
sal was unanimously asked for, and granted. 
Her father acquiesced in the justice of the 
sentence ; adding that the fault complained 
of prevented his keeping her at home ! Who 
could foresee the next occupation of this gen- 
tle creature ? Her former mistress shortly 
afterwards recognised her in Hyde Park — 
loith three little girls in her charge ! 

The present system is alike injurious to 
all ; even to the servants themselves. To 
the most undeserving, is given such a cha- 
racter as will obtain her another situation. 
The most deserving can get no more ; and in 
case of sickness or want of employment, both 
are alike subjected to the same hardships and 
demoralising influences. I have recently 
read some observations, which seem to me 
most just. I cannot, however, follow the 
writer's indulgent views as to dress, " follow- 
ers," loud talking, laughing, &c. Too fond 
of " finery," to consider the love of a gay 
ribbon, or smart shawl, in the light of a 
crime, (abstractedly considered); and al- 
though I should be " indignant at any 
imputation on my humanity, *' yet am 
I free to confess, that I like to see ser- 
vants neatly, tastefully, and well dressed ; 
hut suitably to their position. Anything 
beyond this is seldom, even respecting per- 
sonal appearance, advantageous to them. It 
is a snare in youth ; and in more advanced 
age, those who have had every opportunity 
of saving a poire contre la soif — a reserve in 
old age, are driven (as one of themselves 
emphatically said) to the washing-tub, or 
char-ing, as I believe it is called. 

With respect to followers, loud talking, 
&c, I think these are not consistent with 
safety or comfort. Many houses are robbed, 
not by the servants themselves, but by the 
indiscriminate acquaintances they form ; and 
in most families there are stated and reason- 
ably frequent holidays. Holidays ! how many 
poor clerks, and well-educated men scarcely 
know the meaning of the word, although hav- 
ing more severe labor and heavier responsi- 
bilities to perform ! 

" Is it not a solecism in the working of our 
Christianity, — a barbarism in the heart of our 
civilisation, that two classes of human beings 
— masters, and servants — subsisting in sin h 
intimate relation, so mutually dependant on 
each other, having such daily and hourly 

intercourse, should be entirely destitute of 
mutual regard — should be in fact in a state 
of mutual enmity ; the master putting no 
trust in servants, and the servants regarding 
the master or mistress as their natural 
enemy ? It is the total absence of everything 
like the love that ought to bind one human 
being to another, which lies at the root of 
the evil. Servants live in closer intimacy 
with the members of families than the near- 
est relations. They dwell under the same roof 
for months, perhaps years. They scan and 
know the character of each individual, as 
neither lover nor friend can pretend to do ; 
yet, with all this, there is no fellowship, no 
identification of interest ! 

And what becomes of sick servants? No- 
thing can be conceived more homeless, hope- 
less, and forlorn, than their condition ! They 
have no one to care for them ; they have be- 
come strangers to the houses where they once 
dwelt for months, or, it may be, for years. Is 
it therefore any wonder, that they should 
become hardened, neutralised, and thoroughly 
demoralised, by the habit of changing from 
place to place, until all idea of a perfect home 
is lost, and seems to be an impossibility ? 

If we think of the close contact into which 
this class comes with ourselves, our children, 
— for try as we may, it is impossible to pre- 
vent all communication — we may well shud- 
der at the frightful evil lying within our very 
doors, and to which the supine inditierence 
and selfish indolence of those who stand to- 
wards them in the responsible position of 
masters and mistresses, have conduced. The 
grand thing required in our social relation 
with our servants, is, that they shall not feel 
themselves isolated — with no interest in the 
family, and no atrection or human feeling ex- 
pected from them, none felt towards them ; 
nothing required from them except their work. 
Nobody can conceive the desolating effect of 
such a position, unless they have tried it. The 
better part of human nature cannot flourish 
under such circumstances — and does not. The 
servants on the continent look at their mas- 
ters' family with a very different feeling to 
what they do in England ; they feel bound 
up and identified with them. They feel mem- 
bers of the family ; their manners are more 
pleasing, and their tone altogether superior." 
Ladies who venture to make observations on 
what passes around them, must expect to be 
now and then reminded of their spinning- 
wheel, or its modern equivalent. But this 
abuse is, surely, peculiarly within a woman's 
province, to remedy ; and one, which it is 
not only an interest but a duty to do all in 
her power to amend. 


[It is somewhat curious, that our amiable 
correspondent should have been impressed 
with the importance of this subject, at the 



same time as ourself. We were transcribing 
our thoughts, when the above communication 
reached us. Feeble as is our effort, yet will 
we let it appear. It will serve to cast a 
brighter lustre on the more powerful pen.] 


Hail ! beauteous stranger of the grove, 

Thou messenger of spring ! 
How I Teaven repairs thy rural seat, 

And woods thy welcome sing ! 

What time the daisy decks the green, 

Thy certain voice we hear : 
Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 

Or mark the rolling year ? 

Delightful visitant ! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers, 
And hear the sounds of music sweet 

From birds among the bowers. 

The school-boy, wandering through the wood, 

To pull the primrose gay, 
Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, 

And imitates thy lay. 

Soon as the pea puts on its bloom, 

Thou fliest thy vocal vale ; 
An annual guest in other lands, 

Another Spring to hail. 

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear : 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 

No winter in thy year ! 

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee ; 

We'd make with social wing 
Oar annual visit o'er the globe, 

Companions of the Spring ! 

Logan, 1781. 


Carboniferous or Mountain Lime- 
stone^ is, perhaps, one of the most plentiful 
formations, and certainly not the least 
valuable, in the north of England. Un- 
doubtedly it yields in importance to the coal 
formation ; and some may be even inclined 
to prefer the chalk, or oolite, on account of 
the prevalence of fossils in the rocks, and of 
rare plants on the soil Few, however, who 
have passed any time among the Scars of the 
mountain limestone of Yorkshire or West- 
moreland, will deny that, for beauty, in- 
terest, and utility, this formation is inferior 
to any. 

My first introduction to a regular scar of 
limestone, was at Kettlewell. I had formerly 
been in the region of magnesian limestone, 
in Yoredale, and had passed through the 
millstone grit of the lower part of Wharfdale. 
The soft bath-brick-like composition of the 

former, and the hard gritty masses of the 
latter, had become familiar to me ; and it 
was with no small joy that I noticed, in 
passing, the hard limestone rocks at Bolton 
bridge ; and, after a few hardships, such as 
all travellers, and especially naturalists, 
endure, got sight of a fine level-topped hill, 
crowned with a coronet of bare white rock. 
This was Kettlewell Scar. The hill was 
not more than four hundred feet high, and it 
bears several interrupted terraces, or walls 
of rock, of white weathered limestone ; the 
whole surface being covered with broken 
fragments of the same substance. The up- 
permost terrace is continuous, with a road 
round its base, much in the same style as 
the radical road skirts the foot of Salisbury 
Crags, at Edinburgh. The vegetation was 
different from that of the places I had left. 
The quantity of lime in the soil caused a 
luxuriance of no common kind ; while the 
rocks themselves were covered with lichens, 
and their interstices filled with robust plants. 
I happened, unfortunately, to visit this 
locality at a very early season of the year, 
when few flowers were out ; but one especially 
attracted my attention — the Saxifraga tri- 
dactylites, one of the least showy, but not the 
least beautiful of the tribe. 

My next view of a Scar was at Hawse (I 
have noticed it once before, in a former note), 
and next again in the month of April, was a 
visit to Ewbank Scar, about a mile from the 
little town of Kirby Stephen, in the east 
corner of Westmoreland. This Scar differs 
materially from the others in appearance. 
The hill on which it is situated, rises to a 
greater elevation than does Kettlewell Scar ; 
and from the top is a magnificent view, em- 
bracing the high mountain known as the Nine 
Standards, a portion of Stainmoor Fell, and 
High Seat. The herbage was vigorous for 
that season of the year, and numerous patches 
of the stiff grass, Sesleria ccei'ulea, were to 
be met with. The Scar is not to be found by 
the stranger without some trouble, being 
concealed by luxuriant trees ; but when found 
it will never be forgotten. To those who have 
been accustomed to see Scar rocks, running 
along the sides or brows of hills, parallel 
with the plane of the earth — this presents an 
entirely new feature, being placed at an 
angle, varying from about thirty to forty 
degrees, or even more. The wall rock is 
of very compact limestone, as also that on 
which we tread in the ascent ; and it exhibits, 
in its weather-worn surface, many fine shells 
and madrapores. In many parts, especially 
in the channel of the stream below it, the 
old red sandstone conglomerate is to be seen, 
either in situe, or in the shape of abraded 
fragments. Indeed, it would appear, that 
the limestone here rests on the conglomerate ; 
and, in many instances, they can be procured 



in actual contact. They are both of a very 
firm texture, and require all the geologist's 
patience as well as cleaving powers, to get 
a specimen. The shells were particularly 
beautiful, and, in many places, prevented the 
foot from slipping on the smooth inclined plane 
of rock. 

Different species of Producti (a bivalve 
shell, bearing some resemblance to a cockle), 
were very plentiful, of all sizes, varying from 
half an inch to several inches in diameter. 
The madrapores did not yield to them in 
beauty. In the stream we procured one, not 
less than six stone weight— a most perfect 
mass of petrified animal life. To the unini- 
tiated, it may be necessary to describe a 
madrapore. Well, then, suppose a quantity 
of common earth worms, to the number of 
several thousands, laid together as if tied in 
a bundle, and this turned into hard lime- 
stone. This gives you a pretty good notion 
of a madrapore, with this addition, that the 
little creatures are banded and striate with 
the utmost regularity. When weathered, or 
broken across, they show a wheel- like section. 
In size, they vary from less than a line, to 
two or more inches in diameter ; and the 
masses from a few inches to many feet. The 
largest madrapore — known as the Ram's-horn, 
seldom occurs in bundles of any size ; and 
it presents a curved figure, resembling a horn. 
So striking is this resemblance, that I nearly 
got knocked down by a miner, on one oc- 
casion, for declaring that sheep were not in 
existence at the time of the formation of 
mountain limestone rock. 

The conglomerate is the most appropriately 
named of all rocks, being a seemingly con- 
fused mixture of broken fragments of different 
rocks ; including red sandstone, limestone, 
agate, quartz, and no end of different things, 
of every form and color, cemented together 
by the lime particles. The prevailing color 
is a sandstone brown, with a dash of blueish 
grey. The stream from this Scar joins the 
River Eden ; the bed of which, for mile6, is 
covered with fragments of limestone, con- 
glomerate, madrapore, and shells. So con- 
cealed is this cut in the hill, that a gentleman, 
of the name of Ewbank, when hunting, is said 
to have accidentally rode over, and with his 
horse to have been killed on the spot. 
Hence the name, Ewbank Scar. 

Winder Scar is on the opposite side of the 
county, and does not present the same in- 
terest to the general observer ; though the 
view from the summit, is perhaps even 
fairer. It embraces the lake Ullswater, 
Helvellyn, Mill-fell, and many other beautiful 
mountains. Nor are the fossils in any way 
inferior to those of the last. Here we counted 
no less than six species of madrapore. The 
conglomerate is not seen here until we pass 
a little to the north. In the channel of a 

little beck, we meet with it in considerable 
quantity. Towards the middle of May, I 
had an opportunity of examining another 
flat-terraced hill, known as Knipe Scar, 
between Bampton and Shap. This hill is of 
a much greater extent than Kettlewell ; but 
it presents the same general characters. The 
fossils were the same, and require no further 

Among plants, may be mentioned the 
horse- shoe vetch, Hij>pocrepio cemosa, a 
pretty yellow pea-flowering plant ; the com- 
mon burnet ; and the cudweed, Gnophaliurn 
dioicum. But so elevated was the situation, 
and, from its flat surface, so exposed to winds 
that, instead of being three or four inches 
high, this latter plant was scarcely half an 
inch, though in full flower ! I particularly 
noticed the abundance of shells. These are 
by no means common, in the lake district. 
The striated whirl shell (zonites rotundata) 
clung, in hundreds, to every stone we lifted. 
One of the pupas, probably umbellicata, and 
the azeca tridens, were also plentiful ; but, 
above all others, was the common banded 
shell, Helix nernoralis. So thickly were 
they strewn, in many places, that even a 
Howard could not have avoided treading 
scores of them to death. 

Almost in a line with this, in a westerly 
direction, is another range of limestone, of 
the same character — rising to a height of 
1800 feet, and commanding a view of most 
of the high mountains of Cumberland and 
Westmoreland, and not a few of the Yorkshire 
hills as well ; including Howgill and Bowfell. 

In ascending, we came upon the remains 
of a fossil plant, bearing all the appearance 
of a sea-weed. It was not unlike some species 
of plocamium. Two fine species of ammonites 
and many ordinary bivalves were procured. 


One long in populous cities pent, 

Forgetting Nature's genial power, 
May find a thousand memories blent, 
A thousand gracious movements lent, 
Even in a single flower! 

On the bleak hill-side, 'neath bare boughs, 

The hoarse cry of the rooks I hear ; 
The babbling runnel freshly flows, 
The Spring wind strikes upon my brows, 
And time runs back for many a year ! 

My soul's high thoughts that cold spring day 
When ye did queen it in the grass, 

Come back again in long array, 

And fill me with a stern dismay, 
Like mocking spectres as they pass ! 

Ah me ! the time that is and was ! 

Not night from morn more different seems ! 
Thou hold'st, fair flower, a magic glass 
That shows tho gulf I cannot pass — 

Except, as now, in weeping dreams ! — H. F. 





In a most curious book just published — the 
authorship of which is owned to by Lady 
Emmeline Stuart Wortley, we find a smart 
anecdote of that beautiful little creature, the 
humming-bird. The book we allude to, re- 
joices in the quaint title of "Et-cetera." It 
is a rambling, gossiping book — perfectly sui 
generis ; and replete with oddities that are 
as perfectly allowable in a " character " like 
Lady Emmeline. It is moreover a " natural " 
performance ; and that is " something," now- 
a-days : — 

The humming-birds in Jamaica are lovely little 
creatures, and most wonderfully tame and fearless 
of the approach of man. One of these charming 
feathered jewels had built its delicate nest close 
to one of the walks of the garden belonging to 
the house where we were staying. The branch, 
indeed, of the beautiful little shrub in which this 
fairy nest was suspended, almost intruded into the 
walk ; and every time we sauntered by there was 
much danger of sweeping against this projecting 
branch with its precious charge, and doing it some 
injury, as very little would have demolished the 
exquisite fabric. In process of time, two lovely 
little pearl-like eggs had appeared ; and while we 
were there, we had the great pleasure of seeing 
the minute living gems themselves appear, looking 
like two very small bees. 

The mother -bird allowed us to look closely at 
her in the nest, and to inspect her little nurse- 
lings, when she was flying about near ; without 
appearing in the least degpee disconcerted or 
alarmed. I never saw so tame or so bold a little 
pet. But she did not allow the same liberties to 
be taken by everybody, unchecked. One day, as 

Sir C was walking in the pretty path beside 

which the fragile nest was delicately suspended 
amid sheltering leaves, he paused in order to look 
at its Lilliputian inhabitants. While thus en- 
gaged, he felt suddenly a sharp light rapping on 
the crown of his hat, which considerably surprised 
him. He looked round to ascertain from whence 
this singular and unexpected attack proceeded ; 
but nothing was to be seen. Almost thinking he 
must have been mistaken, he continued his sur- 
vey ; when a much sharper and louder rat-tat-tat- 
tat-tat seemed to demand his immediate attention, 
and a little to jeopardise the perfect integrity and 
preservation of the fabric in question. 

Again he looked round, far from pleased at such 
extraordinary impertinence ; when what should he 
see but the beautiful delicate humming-bird, with 
ruffled feathers and fiery eyes, who seemed by no 
means inclined to let him off without a further 
infliction of sharp taps and admonitory raps from 
her fairy beak ! She looked like a little fury in 
miniature — a winged Xantippe. These pointed 
attentions apprised him that his company was not 
desired or acceptable ; and much amused at the 
excessive boldness of the dauntless little owner of 
the exquisite nest he had been contemplating, Sir 
C moved off, anxious not to disturb or irri- 

tate further this valiant minute mother, who had 
displayed such intrepidity and cool determination. 

As to V and me, the darling little pet did 

not mind us in the least ; she allowed us to watch 
her to our hearts' content during the uninterrup- 
ted progress of all her little household and domes- 
tic arrangements, and rather appeared to like our 
society than not, and to have the air of saying, 
' Do you think I manage it well, eh ?' 

Her ladyship subsequently met with more 
of these fairy birds. She says : — 

Some time afterwards, at Kingston, at the 
Date-tree Hotel, we made the acquaintance of 
another of this charming tribe, which almost re- 
gularly every morning used to come and breakfast 
with us ! Thus it was : — of course our large win- 
dows were opened as far as they would go ; a 
beautiful tree, covered with rich brilliant blossoms, 
stood close to the house (near the graceful date- 
tree that gives its name to that pleasant hotel) ; 
and the lovely little bird used to come and suck 
the honey-dew out of those bright flowers that 
made that tree so splendid — generally, as if so- 
cially inclined, and disliking a solitary breakfast, 
at the identical hour that we were seated at our 
breakfast table. The fresh breezes would gently 
blow the beautiful branch, blossoms, buds, birds, 
leaves, and all, into the room ; but undismayed, the 
brilliant stranger would continue at his repast, 
preventing us from continuing ours inconsequence 
of the interest and admiration he excited in us ; 
till at last the novelty wore off, and we expected to 
meet our little friend every morning at breakfast 
as a matter of course. Still we were never in- 
sensible to the charm of his elfin society, and it 
was quite a mortification if the wee guest neglec- 
ted to be punctual to his self-imposed appoint- 

Ornithologically speaking, I believe, these pre- 
cious bee-birds, these diminutive fays, these 
diamond dew-drops on wings, these sylphs, these 
visions, these rainbow-atoms, these flying flowers, 
these buds of birds — are as bold as the eagle, and 
fiery as the falcon ; in fact, are perfect little 
didbles I just what our small fury who assaulted 
the governor's hat showed herself to be. She 
seemed soft as velvet or a puff of down, light as 
foam, bright as a spark of the sun, mild as new 
milk — a breath of spring or a honey-drop ; but it 
was, in truth, very valiant velvet, very doughty 
down (quite knock-you-down, indeed !) milk 
soured by a dash of thunder, or, rather, milk- 
punch of the strongest, honey of the hottest, foam 
of the fiercest, the most peppery of puffs, — sun- 
shine of the most fiery description, that verily 
proved a pocket coup-de-soleil ; 'twas a breath of 
infant Boreas, and a spark of — gunpowder. This 
fairy Mab is, in fact, the very Bellona of birds. 

Lady Emmeline, though an earl's daughter, 
appears to be quite a hoyden in her feelings, 
— and w r hy not ? She would make a " love 
of a woman " at a gipsy party ; and be in- 
valuable at a " pic-nic." At a round game, 
or " hunt the slipper," too, — she would 
be the funniest of the funny ; and then, if 
she were to record the fun with her own 
graphic pen, in her own racy style, in the 



columns of our Journal, — -what a treat 
our readers would have ! Who knows? 

Droll ideas sometimes eome to pass. For 
" et-cetera " like these, we will gladly find 
room ; and, if needs be, ourself attend at the 
performances. We are " great " at every- 
thing of the kind ; and one day's notice is 
always sufficient for us ! 

The hirelings of the press, in tomahawk- 
ing this book, have shown little good sense 
Pruned of certain exuberances, there is 
" that within which passeth show." The 
Lady Emmeline shall be one of our " pets." 
We have said it. 


Go ! mark the matchless working of the Power 
That shuts within the seed the future flower ; 
Bids these in elegance of form excel, — 
In color these, and those delight the smell, 
Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, 
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes. 

The love of flowers would seem to 
be a naturally implanted passion, without 
any alloy or debasing object in its motive. 
The cottage has its pink, its rose, and its poly- 
anthus ; the villa its dahlia, its clematis, and 
geranium. AYe cherish them in youth, we 
admire them in declining years. 

But perhaps it is the early flowers of spring 
that always bring with them the greatest de- 
gree of pleasure ; and our affections seem to 
expand at the sight of the first blossom under 
the sunny wall, or sheltered bank, however 
humble its race may be. In the long and 
sombre months of winter, our love of nature, 
like the buds of vegetation, seems close and 
torpid ; but, like them, it unfolds and reani- 
mates with the opening year, and we welcome 
our long-lost associates, with a cordiality that 
no other season can excite, as friends in a 
foreign clime. 

The violet of autumn is greeted with none 
of the love with which we hail the violet of 
spring. It is unseasonable ; perhaps it brings 
with it rather a sort of melancholy than a 
joy. We view it with curiosity, not affection; 
and thus the late is not like the early rose. 
It is not intrinsic beauty or splendor that so 
charms us, — for the fair maids of spring can- 
not compete with the grander matrons of 
the advanced year. They would be unper- 
ceived, perhaps lost, in the rosy bowers of 
summer and of autumn. No ; it is our first 
meeting with a long-lost friend, — the revi- 
ving glow of a natural affection, that so 
warms us at this season. To maturity they 
give pleasure, as the harbinger of the renewal 
of life. To youth, they are an expanding 
being; opening years, hilarity, and joy; and 
the child let loose from the house, riots in 
the flowery meads — 

" Monarch of all lie surveys." 

There is not a prettier emblem of spring, 
than an infant sporting in the sunny field, 
with its osier basket, wreathed with butter- 
cups or orchises and daisies. With summer 
flowers we seem to live, as with our neigh 
bors, in harmony and good order. But spring 
flowers are cherished as private friend- 



Old Winter is gone ! We have bade him good 

bye ; 
And Spring has return'd with her pretty blue sky. 
She has brought \is some treasures to add to our 

And promises kindly, we soon shall have more. 
She causes each songster to rise on the wing, 
And welcome with pleasure the first day of Spring. 

Yes, Winter is gone ! but we parted as those 
Who again hope to meet at the year's happy close. 
He hade me remember, as Summer drew nigh, 
That the fairest of flowers must wither and die ; 
The pretty birds, too ! who now merrily sing, 
And welcome with pleasure the first day of 

But joy is before us, and nature is gay ; 
She is dress'd in her fairest apparel to day, 
Her smile is bewitching, her look is as mild 
As a fond mother wears, when she welcomes her 

Her praise shall resound on the harp's gentle 

With her we will welcome the first day of Spring. 

The bright sun is rising ! oh let us away, 
While dew-drops are sparkling on every spray. 
Delighted we'll wander through forest and grove, 
j To hear the sweet song of the birds that we 
love — 
And see yonder lark, proudly pois'd on the wing, 
Now warbling his praise to the first day of Spring ! 

The busy bee whispers to every flower — 
] There's joy in the sunshine, and hope in the 

shower ; 
I There is mirth on the breeze, for delight is afloat, 
! And echo responds to the lark's merry note. 
Ambition, and care, to their victims we'll fling, 
And welcome with Nature the first day of Spring. 



How is it some men, " thought to be " so old, 
look so young; whilst others, " known to be " so 
yoimg, must still look old ? The cause lies fre- 
quently within themselves. One who led a long 
and happy life , on being asked the secret, — gave 
this answer : " I never ride when I can walk. 
I never eat of more than one dish at dinner ; and 
I never get intoxicated. My walking keeps my 
blood in circidation ; my simple diet prevents in- 
digestion ; and by never touching ardent spirits, 
my liver has no fear of being eaten up alive." 





If you suffer people to be ill-educated, and their manners 
to be" corrupted from their infancy ; and then punish them 
for those crimes to which their first education exposes 
them —what else is to be concluded from this, but that you 
make thieves and then punish them?— Sir Thomas Moke. 

We know not, neither is it a matter of 
the slightest consequence, how many treatises 
have been written on the subject to which we 
have addressed ourselves. It is quite true, in 
spite of all that has been said, that things 
not only remain as bad as they ever were, 
but they continue to get worse. Every mas- 
ter and every mistress of a house, however 
small, will not gainsay this. Servants have 
become " enlightened: 1 ' — 

" A little learning is a dangerous thing." 

We have no hope whatever of being able 
to cure the evil we would lay bare. We de- 
clare the thing as it is ; and leave the Public 
to provide their own remedy. Educated as 
people are now, and necessitated as they are 
to " keep up appearances," a servant of some 
sort they must have. On the entrance of that 
servant, happiness at once begins to totter. 
The moment she takes possession of your 
house, you are at her mercy. It is hardly 
needful to explain what we mean — we all feel 
the epidemic so forcibly ! 

It would be idle in us to write a long essay 
on the subject of servants, or domestic 
plagues. We rather wish to point out to all 
sufferers, how best they may escape scyne of 
the evils which they scatter in their train. 
It has been said by a great authority, that 
" lawyers, doctors, and servants are necessary 
evils ;" and that " we cannot do without 
them." It is quite true; and therefore we 
must do the best we can — " under circum- 

To analyse the hereditary practices of our 
domestic plagues, would be an endless task. 
The whole body corporate hang together like 
bees during a swarm. They have masonic 
signals among them, which defy the most 
cunning of us to detect. Everything that 
passes in one family, is speedily known in 
another. Family secrets (fondly imagined to 
be such !) are freely canvassed at home and 
abroad, by members of the lower house. 
Not a minute circumstance that transpires at 
home, but it travels at electric speed along 
" the domestic menial chain ! " and so is mis- 
chief spread — nobody knows how,from family 
to family. Tf we want to learn what is doing 
at home, we must pay visits abroad. 

What airs, too, do these good people give 
themselves ! Ladies 1 - maids, now- a- days, 
stipulate to receive all their mistresses 1 and 
their young mistresses' left-off wardrobes. 
They do not ask for them ; they demand them, 

or they quit their situations ! They have 
their own way, and get the wardrobes — of 
course. It is a rule amongst their order ! 
Gentlemen's servants do just the same thing 
Avith their masters, and stipulate for all the 
left-off clothes of themselves and their sons. 
If crossed in this, their dignity is offended, 
and their resignation follows ; else would they 
lose caste. 

In the middle ranks, things may be some- 
what better managed, we admit ; still, " per- 
quisites " of some kind are looked for ; and, if 
not given, they are taken. Servants, too, 
will have their " followers." Tf of the male 
sex, they are (to a man) invariably " Cousins ;" 
and have a i emarkable penchant, when they 
hear footsteps, for stepping into the coal 
cellar. If they be female followers, they 
are sisters, nieces, or aunts ; and have "just 
arrived from the country." What is trans- 
acted at these meetings, it is not our business 
too closely to inquire — yet does "thought" 
travel fast. Tea, sugar, and other such silly 
trifles, if not properly looked after, certainly 
do shrink mysteriously, when cousins, sisters, 
nieces, and aunts, happen to make " a friendly 
call." It is natural ; nay, it appears to be 
one of "nature's laws ! " 

It is now that tuum melts, like a disrolving 
view, into meum — now, that two several 
interests become one. " What is yours, is 
mine ; what is mine's my own." It would be 
wrong to object to it — very ! 

It may be regarded as severe ; but we can- 
not help giving it as our opinion, that do- 
mestic servants collectively are a frightfully- 
bad lot. They ?ra^be so, from circumstances. 
They spring from the lowest origin ; receive 
no elementary education to teach them right 
from wrong, and are instructed from their 
earliest infancy to consider every evil thing 
they do, as right — provided it be not found out. 
This is a universal law among the sisterhood 
and brotherhood. They are fearfully ignorant, 
for the most part ; and respect neither God nor 
True socialists, too, are they in their 



ideas ; and would soon place all upon " 
equality," if they could have their way. 
You cannot convince them of the true rela- 
tive positions between themselves and their 
employers. One is " as good as the other." 

If my young lady has a new dress, my 
lady's-maid must take a pattern of it ; and 
have one made exactly similar in style for 
herself. The housemaid — aye, and the cook, 
will, on Sunday at all events, " follow suit," 
and all the establishment will be in the 
fashion. This same " principle " obtains in 
smaller families. The servants icill ape the 
manners and dresses of their mistresses, do 
what you will. We have oftentimes seen a 
servant, with a fine figure, looking infinitely 
nicer and better dressed than her mistress. 
Such a pretty cap ! Such a well-made, trim 



boot ! Such a genteel dress ! And such tasty 
ribbons ! ! Of course, these delicate creatures 
despise " work." A poor servant has no right 
to be driven about like a slave. No ! as- 
suredly not. The mistress must have a nice 
looking servant, and a dirty house. She can- 
not help herself. If she speaks, one stereo- 
typed answer awaits her— •" Then suit yourself 
ma'am with another ! " Just so ! 

It can be no matter for wonder, that things 
are as they are. Servants have so many mis- 
tresses, and mistresses have so many servants, 
in the course of a year, that it is impossible for 
the one to get " used " to the ways of the 
other. Fire and water, gentleness and rough- 
ness, simplicity and duplicity, cupidity and 
generosity — all commingle. Fear, deceit, 
insolence, and tyranny, usurp the places of 
love, honesty, amiability, and good- will. The 
servant hates the mistress; the mistress tole- 
rates the servant. Both strive for the mastery, 
and neither can get it. There is a blow-up ; 
the discordant elements are dissolved — to be 
got together again in twenty-four hours. "We 
" change ;" and for a bad servant, generally 
get a worse. 

When we were a boy, the schoolmaster was 
not abroad. Servants then were " happy " in 
their ignorance. They loved and respected 
their employers, and discharged their house- 
hold duties willingly. They kept their situ- 
ations ten, fifteen, and twenty years ; and were 
truly a part of the family, and treated as such. 
They lived and often died under one and the 
same roof. Now, they are taught their 
alphabet ; and though not often to write, yet 
are they taught to spell — and, superficially, to 
read. They do read — vile penny " Miscel- 
lanies," treating of love, seduction, suicide, 
and romance. They fancy themselves hero- 
ines ; their " cousins 1 ' frequently figure as the 
heroes, and the " issue " may be guessed. 
•ly every female serranfs mind is now de- 
moralised ere she is yet twelve years old. "We 
affirm it. What they know at this tender 
age, we shudder even to imagine. They are 
" up " to everything that is bad — and put such 
a face on, the while ! 

What is the consequence of all this ? 
Why, that thousands and thousands are per- 
petually out of place ; and smuggling them- 
selves into respectable families, by paying for 
"false characters,"' which are easily procurable 
at the " Offices for hiring Female Servants. " 
We will not now enlarge on this, but it is a 
fearful social evil. 

Then, again — the constant and needful 
ejectments of servants from private families. 
Let anybody examine only one daily news- 
paper — the " Times " — and cast his eye orer 
the advertisements inserted by Servants who 
" want places." The list is always alarmingly 
long; and we hardly need point out "the 
consequences " arising from engagements 

through such a medium. No servant of any 
■ tability need ever be driven to this last 
resource. Private recommendation would 
always ensure her a place. 

It may be said — " But are not many masters 
and mistresses as bad as their servants ? and 
do they not treat them shamefully ? " They 
do : we admit it, and deplore it. But this only 
proves the discordant elements of which so- 
ciety is constituted. Fire and water can never 
come peaceably together. If a master or 
mistress find they have been deceived, they 
sometimes vent their anger in an improper 
manner ; and this, of course, irritates the 
person subjected to their abuse. Human 
nature is alike in all. This is to be lamented. 
Loss of temper can never be defended. And 
here let us enter our strong protest against 
the haughty and overbearing tone used by 
some masters and mistresses towards their 
servants. Their mode of addressing them is 
inhumanly disgusting — so indefensible, that 
we willingly admit the servant to be superior 
to the employer. Every dependant, however 
mean, is entitled to courteous treatment ; and 
he who forgets himself in this matter, is 
little better, nay worse, than a brute. And 
how inhumanly, too, are some servants driven 
about — never allowed one moment's repose ! 

We had written thus far, when we received 
a communication from our highly- valued cor- 
respondent — F&RESTIERA. on a subject nearly 
akin to this. We shall therefore leave her, 
in her own gentle manner, to comment on the 
frightful moral offence of giving a bad servant 
a good character, in order to get rid of her — 
a practice, all but universally adopted by the 
higher and middle classes ; and one which 
destroys the possibility of enjoying real do- 
mestic happiness. 

Solomon says — " Train up a child in the 
way he should go, and when he is old he will 
not depart from it." We say the same of 
domestic servants. They must be well trained 
in infancy, before we can expect them to be 
fit persons to enter our houses, //"we admit 
them — such as they now are, we know the 
penalty, and pay it. 

Servants have much in their power. They 
can make a house comfortable or miserable. 
The latter they study to perfection. How 
pleased shall we be, to record a single instance 
of their excelling in the former ! 


The rose is my favorite flower, 

On its tablets of crimson I swore, — 
That, up to ray last living hour, 

I never would think of thee more ! 
But scarcely the vow I had made, 

Ere zephyr, in frolicsome play, 
On his light airy pinions convey'd 

Both tablet and promise away ! 





Hail, happy bird ! — 

Or thing more fair ! 
For such we deem thee, pois'd in middle air; 

When thou art heard 

Warbling on high, 
Thou charm'st all Nature with thy melody. 

When Lucifer 

Proclaims the day, 
Approaching on his dew-bespangled way, — 

Thou lov'st to bear, 

Th}' meed of praise, 
And dye thy plumage in his golden blaze. 

On rapid wing 

Thou leav'st thy rest, 
Hov'ring and fluttering round thy humble nest ; 


In flexile flight ; 
Till, swift as thought,thou soar'st beyond our sight. 

Oh, could I soar 

On beams of light, 
To visit worlds untenanted by night ; 

With thee adore, 

High o'er the earth, 
In sunny space, the power that gave me birth ; 

Yet would not I 

To earth return, 
Where cold hearts chill, and fiery passions burn ; 

But cheerily 

Would burst away, 
And at " Heaven's gate," enjoy eternal day — 

And in a pure, 

Ethereal home, 
With happy and congenial spirits roam"; 

And there, secure 

From earthly care, 
Spurn all the toils that human powers impair. 

Spirit of air ! 

If such thou art — 
Whose universal note from every part 

Salutes the ear, — 

Oh, think thou not 
The mind is born or fettered to this spot. 

No ! it shall rise 

High as thy flight, 
Up to a boundless sov'reignty in light — 

Above the skies ; 

Like thee shall stray, 
And trace thro' ample space its airy way. 

Nor like thee, there, 

Shall pause on high — 
Fearful the nobler, loftier heights to try ; 

Nor drop from air 

With swiftest flight, 
Again enveloped in the circling night. 

Thyself less free, 

Wingest thy way, 
Enraptured, thro' the straggling clouds to stray — 

Than Mind shall be, 

When, wing'd with love, 
Earth sinks beneath, and Heaven unfolds 
above ! 


Oh, that men should put an enemy in 
Their mouths, to steal away their Drains ! that we 
Should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, 
Transform ourselves to beasts ! 


There never yet was any good thing 
conferred upon us without its being 
subject to abuse. This can hardly be a 
matter for wonder ; yet is it a matter for 
great regret. Can we hope ever to set this 
crooked thing straight ? Never. We may, 
however, help to bend it a little on the right 
side, and this is "something." 

"We cannot permit Our Journal to be 
made a vehicle for the discussion of any 
great party question ; nor do we to-day intend 
to dive deeply into the subject we have 
chosen. We merely wish to speak a kind 
word or two, on the subject of temperance ; 
and to point out the folly of those who insist 
upon total abstinence. Well-meaning indi- 
viduals they may be ; but by going to ex- 
tremes, they defeat their own purpose. They 
"prove" too much. 

Some few days since, we received a letter 
from one of our subscribers, of which the 
following is an extract : — 

I enclose you a few remarks by Mr. Edward 
Baines, of Leeds, on total abstinence ; and I may 
remark to you, that much unpleasant feeling and 
doubt passes through my mind when T find that 
so-called Christian Ministers do not " sign the 
pledge," or be abstainers of their own accord — 
this, if only as an example to the " weak " of 
their flock. That there is lacking much of that 
spirit of self-sacrifice for the good of others, is 
plainly visible. 

We readily admit that our correspondent 
is an honest, true-hearted man. Yet does 
his zeal betray him into some few weak- 
nesses. He goes on to say : — 

I am moreover of opinion, that all editors and 
public teachers of morality should be abstainers. 
Do you hear this ? If so, give heed to it. I am 
glad to see you do sometimes give the monster a 
11 knock on the head ;" but example. Sir, before 
precept. In some of your rural rambles, you 
describe, with much gusto, the reminiscence of 
certain glasses of ale. This shows me you are 
not " an example ;" but one of the class from 
whence our drunkards spring. 

Here we have, in little, the pith of the 
sentiments held by the whole class of " total 
abstinence men." Well ; let us see how much 
good sense there is in their arguments. 

They set out by saying, that because one 
man gets drunk, on wine, beer, or spirits, 
and ill-treats his wife and family in conse- 
quence — therefore, wine, beer, and spirits, 
must be bad. This is the argument. On this 
principle of reasoning, money is bad. It 
purchases the most baneful pleasures ; and is 



lavished, by thousands, on the most unlawful 
of possessions — therefore is money bad. In 
its place, wine is good — excellent. We 
have spoken of it in a former number of our 
Journal. Beer too, is good ; many people 
cannot live without it.* spirits, likewise, 
taken medicinally, are equally good. If we 
are asked — do we individually indulge in these 
things? we say '"no;"' simply because we 
know we are better without them. There 
are times, when one or two glasses of wine 
are perfect cordials to our stomach ; times 
too, when rambling in the country, that a 
glass of genuine home-brewed ale is quite a ; 
luxury to us ; and other times, when a glass 
of diluted spirits are equally acceptable and 
wholesome. We do not drink to excess : 
nor do we ever eat to excess. And, if we 
speak truth, we believe 20s. would abun- 
dantly pay for all the wine, ale. and spirits 
that we annually consume. But this is not , 
the question. 

We say. let a man by all means abstain 
from taking any and everything that he 
thinks objectionable ; but don't let him 

* It would seem, that beer possesses wonderful 
excellencies. Madame Pasta, the great singer, 
was passionately fond of " half and half," and ; 
Madame Mali bran yearned earnestly for porter. 
Of the latter, Bunn. the theatrical manager, tells 
us an apposite anecdote. It seems (for he was 
a savage brute) that he had quarrelled with the 
Prima Donna in the morning : — ; * I went into 
her dressing-room previous to the commencement 
of the third act of the Maid of Ariois, to ask 
how she felt — and she replied ' Very tire 1, but ' 
(and here her eye of fire suddenly lighted up) 

1 you angry d 1, if you will contrive to get me 

a pint of porter in the desert scene, you shall 
have an encore to yoxafaiaU ; .' Had I been deal- 
ing with any other performer, I should perhaps 
have hesitated in complying with a request that 
might have been dangerous in its application at 
the moment ; but to check her powers were to 
annihilate them. I therefore arranged that. 
behind the pile of drifted sand on which she falls 
in a state of exhaustion, towards the close of the 
desert scene, a small aperture should be made 
in the stage, and it is a fact that, from under- 
neath the stage, through that aperture, a peufter 
pint of porter was conveyed to the parched lips 
of this rare child of song ; which so revived her. 
after the terrible exertion the scene led to, that 
she electrified the audience, and had strength to 
repeat the charm, with the finale to the Maid of 
Artois. Idie novelty of the circumstance so 
tickled her fancy, and the draught itself wag so 
extremely refreshing, that it was arranged, during 
the subsequent run of the opera, for the negro 
slave, at the head of the governor's procession, to 
have in the gourd suspended to his neck the same 
quantity of the same beverage, to be applied to 
her lips, on his first leholding the apparently 
dying Isoline." — We imagine thai ''total absti- 
nence," in cases of physical exhaustion, goes but 
a very little way. — Ed. K. J. 

u pledge " himself not to do it, or sign any 
promise. We consider it morally wrong to 
do it : for we must all know how irreligiously 
such a pledge is kept. Nay. we see how it 
is broken daily. The pledge encourages 
hypocrisy : therefore Lb it that we turn our 
back upon it. All things are good in their 
places, and were sent for our use. It is 
the abuse of them that works so much moral 

No person who reads Our Journal, can 
have failed to recognise our principle of 
action. We detest excess in anything, and 
contend for the men* sana in corpore sano — 
a sound mind in a healthy body. Nor is 
ours a mere theory ; we practice what we 
preach to the very letter. Water is our 
favorite ; almost our only drink — and it 
agrees with us so well, that we want no 
other. Of water, we think as favorably 
as did that old veteran, Dr. Cheyne. 
■• Water," says he, " was the primitive 
original beverage, as it is the only simple 
fluid for diluting, moistening, and cooling — 
the ends of drink appointed by nature. And 
happy had it been for the race of mankind, 
if other mixed and artificial liquors had been 
never invented. It has been an agreeable 
appearance to me, to observe with what 
freshness and vigor those who, though 
eating freely of flesb meat, yet drink nothing 
but this element, have lived in health and 
cheerfulness to a great age." — Still, we 
'• pledge " ourself to nothing. Good sense 
always decides us ; and whatever we know 
does not agree with us. that we avoid, either 
in meats or drinks. Why cannot others do 
the same ? Do not even beasts, wild and 
tame, know when they have had sufficient ? 
And do they not avoid all that is foreign to 
their stomachs ? assuredly they do. 

It happens, unfortunately for the advocates 
of total abstinence, that we reside in the 
immediate thoroughfare leading to Hampton 
Court. The number of "total abstinence 
professors " who pass our house in vans. 
during the summer season, is immense. It 
is curious to observe how quiet they are. 
and how orderly on their way down — singing 
hvmns. ccc. How much more curious it is 
to see. or rather hear them on their return — 
the pledge broken, their throats full of 
ribaldrv, and their stomachs full of " the 
enemy." Alas ! poor human nature ! 

But let us not slight the little pamphlet 
of Mr. Edward Baines. It contains some 

* The cause of 
the publication of 
certain ignorant ,: 
to us recently, has 
lenge any man w 
ardent spirits, and 
the traffic, to sho.." 
guilt of murder !— 

temperance is sadly injure'! by 
many abusive tra: by 

be agues." One of them, sent 
this passage in it ' — " I chal- 
ho understands the nature of 
yet continues to be engaged in 
that he is not involved in the 
-Ed. K. J. 



good sense ; and the writer is evidently 
actuated by much kindly feeling. He 
says : — 

I did not adopt total abstinence owing to any 
illness or tendency to disease, nor because liquor 
was any considerable temptation to me. I had 
always used it moderately. My sole object was a 
desire to induce some whom I knew, by example, 
to abandon an indulgence which was leading them 
to ruin. And it seemed to me, that if I could 
do without strong drink, other persons in ordinary 
health might do the same. My constitution is 
not robust ; on the contrary, I have from child- 
hood been rather pale and thin. Therefore the 
experiment of total abstinence seemed in me a 
very fair one. I was an average subject. Many 
of my friends even thought that I needed a little 
wine ; dissuaded me from giving it up ; and 
mourned over my unwise persistence. I myself 
had the prejudice that it helped digestion. Well, 
I tried the experiment — first for a month, then 
for another month, till at length I learned to 
laugh at the prejudices of myself and my friends ; 
and in the consciousness of firm health and good 
spirits, I have continued the practice to the pre- 
sent day. 

Within fifteen years of life, one passes through 
various circumstances, which would be likely to 
try the merits of any regimen. But I have never 
felt as if strong drink would help me in any of 
those circumstances ; — certainly not in protracted 
study. As certainly not in the prolonged and 
exciting public meeting ; not in active business, 
however pressing ; not in travelling, by night or 
by day; not in pedestrian rambles on the moun- 
tains of Cumberland or Wales ; not in the cold of 
winter ; not in the heat of summer ; not in the 
raw damp of intermediate seasons ; not in the 
morning, not at noon, nor yet at night. Not in 
anxiety and trouble ; not in joy and social inter- 
course. I need it in none of these circumstances ; 
it would do me mischief in many. It might 
cloud my intellect, or excite my brain, or disorder 
my stomach, or cause local inflammation more or 
less serious. There are those who think that 
beer is needful, whenever they feel 
But surely nature 
vides her own restorative at a much easier 
cheaper rate. He who is tired should rest, 
who is weary should sleep. He who is exhausted 
should take wholesome food or innocent beverages. 
He who is closely confined should take air and 
exercise. I repeat that, in my own case, alcoholic 
drinks are never necessary, and would never do 
me good. 

I claim no merit for total abstinence — 1st, 
because it is no privation. A total abstainer 
does not care or think about liquor , at least after 
the first few days or weeks, he forgets it. 2ndly, 
because I am firmly convinced that a total ab- 
stainer has more physical comfort, and even more 
gratification for his palate, than he who takes 
liquors. The digestive organs being generally in 
a healthier state, he enjoys food and innocent 
beverages with greater relish. If he loses the 
pungency of strong drink, he also escapes its 
painful consequences. 3rdly, because abstinence 
from liquor is no mean saving of money, which 
may be so much better applied. 4thly, because 

wine or 

fatigued or exhausted 


it is a still more important saving of precious 
time ; and 5thly, because it obviously keeps men 
out of many dangers and temptations. There- 
fore, in my judgment, enlightened self-interest — 
nay, an enlightened regard for mere physical en- 
joyment, might make a man give up strong 

These arguments are admirable ; and we 
second them, joyfully. Only do away with 
the humbug of " the pledge," and advocate 
temperance ; then we are satisfied. But never 
set aside the use of reason. If a man 
possesses no self-control over his passions, no 
pledge that he may take, however solemn, 
will ever keep him honest. Teach him, 
first, to love nature ; and show him how tem- 
perate everything is— but himself. This will 
set him " thinking." His reason convinced, 
the battle is already three parts won. Then 
let him listen to Charles Swain, and he will 
need no further " pledge :" — 

Let the Sun be thy nectar ! 

Drink deep of its beams ; 
Let the greensward of nature 

Thy banquet-hall be ! 
Fill thy spirit with sunlight, — 

'Tis richer than streams 
Of the wine-flowing goblet, 

And better for thee ! 

Let the Sun be thy nectar ; 

'Tis next to divine ! 
Where's a vintage more golden 

To gladden thine eyes ? 
What's the charm of the goblet, 

The grace of the vine, 
Compared to a banquet 

Thus brought from the skies ? 

Oh ! air of the mountain ! 

Best wine of the world ! — 
Enrich 'd with the sweetness 

Of nature alone, — 
I drink of thy spirit, 

With sun-gems impearl'd; 
And challenge Man's vintage 

To equal thine own ! 



Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, 

That overhangs a molehill large and round, 
I hear from morn to morn a merry thrush 

Sing hymns to sunrise ; and I drink the sound 
With joy ; and, often an intruding guest, 

I watch her secret toils from day to day. 
How true she warped the moss, to form a nest, 

And modelled it within with wood and clay ! 
And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, 

There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers, 
Ink-spotted over shells of greeny blue ! 

And there I witness in the sunny hours, 
A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly, 
Glad as that sunshine and the laughing sky ! 




In vain with love our bosoms glow, 
Can all our tears, can all our sighs, 
New lustre to tliose charms impart ? 
Can checks, where living roses blow, 
Where Nature spreads her richest dyes, 
Require the borrow'd gloss of Art ? 

" God made the Country ; and Man 
the Town," — sings one of our sweetest 
poets. How does our heart echo to his 
lovely sentiment ! 

What a delicious thing it is, in the midst 
of a " London season" — as the frequenters 
of Almacks' denominate it — to take a run 
into the country ! To breathe the fresh air 
— to enjoy tranquillity, for at least a time — 
and to find one's-self all alone, at some nice 
little village, some twenty or thirty miles 
from the metropolis, where one is wholly 
unknown ; and where, therefore, one may 
give one's-self up to the wild vagaries of one's 
own mind and imagination, and indulge any 
innocent whim or feeling, without being 
called to a rigid account by your formal or 
fashionable friends. 

Let our reader fancy himself in such a 
case ; seated in some romantic bower, com- 
manding a beautiful, though, it may be, con- 
fined view ; the cawing rooks and cuckoo's 
voice, instead of the rumbling of carts and 
coaches ; the shrill crow of chanticleer, in- 
stead of the shouts and screams of a pack of 
noisy little urchins, who almost block up 
the thoroughfare of the street ; the painted 
canvass of the mimic scene at a theatre, it 
may be, changed for the real rich luxurious 
trees, where every branch 

Is musical with birds, that sing and sport, 
In wantonness of spirit ; the songs of insects in 

the glade 
Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm 

That wak'd them into life. 

Oh, yes ! it is indeed delicious to find one's- 
self in the midst of tranquil nature — to look 
back upon the thoughts of a noisy world, 
and give one's-self up to meditation in such 
a scene as this, where — 

Even the green trees 
Partake the deep contentment, as they bend 
To the soft winds ; the sun from the blue sky 
Looks in, and sheds a blessing on the scene : 
Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to 

, enjoy 
Existence, than the winged plunderer 
That sucks its sweets. 

In the midst of enjoyment like this, it really 
does seem folly — if not madness, to make 
this the season for Loudon gaiety. Yet it 
is true, that at the very moment the country 
is budding into beauty, everybody is hurry- 
ing away from it, and entering the crowded 
streets of London ! What a strange thing it 

is, that amongst those studiers of pleasure, 
the votaries of fashion, they have not yet 
discovered a mode of adapting their plea- 
sures to the course of nature, enjoying all 
her beauties when they are most luxuriant, 
and seeking shelter in the crowded city 
when winter has robbed her of her charms ! 
The English, we really believe, are the only 
people who are guilty of this folly; and it is 
guilt to neglect the many pleasures with 
which the beneficent Creator has endued all 
the works of his unerring hand. 

How many heart-burnings would be 
avoided by a pursuit of nature hi her wood- 
lands, instead of gaiety hi society ! Those, 
too, who are oppressed with care, fly to the 
convivial enjoyments of the table; to the 
crowded ball or rout, as a temporary relief, 
or rather forgetfulness of their cares. But 
these come back with redoubled force with 
the reaction of their waking thoughts. Let 
them try another course, and 

Enter this wild wood, 
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm 

Shall bring a kindred calm — and the sweet 

That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft 

a balm 
To the sick heart. It will find nothing here 
Of all that pained it in the haunts of men. 

But leaving the sentiments of flowers, and 
green trees, and sylvan solitude — let us look 
at nature as the great instructress. These 
trees, with then* budding leaves, their um- 
brageous branches, their varied-colored 
barks, are beautiful. But every leaf and 
bud bears a lesson to the agriculturist and 
the planter — to the sower and the reaper, 
of which few, if any of them, reap the 
benefit. They depict the proper time for 
sowing and planting ; and thus an accurate 
observation of them, by a prudent husband- 
man, may tend to produce that plenty which 
lays the best foundation of the public wel- 
fare and happiness. 

In Sweden, the budding and leafing of the 
birch tree is always considered as the 
directory for sowing barley. No one can 
deny that the same power which brings 
forth the leaves of trees, will make grain 
vegetate ; for the law of nature operates on 
the whole of it. The husbandman, there- 
fore, cannot do better than take his rule 
for sowing from the leafing of trees. 

Linnaeus, in the most earnest manner, ex- 
horted his countrymen, to observe with all 
care and diligence at what time each tree 
expanded its buds, and unfolded its leaves ; 
imagining, and not without reason, that 
some time or other his country would derive 
the greatest benefit from observations of this 
kind made in different years. The ignorant 
farmer, tenacious of the ways ofhisances- 



tors, guided by custom, instead of obser- 
vation, fixes his sowing season generally by 
the month or week ; without considering 
whether the earth be in a proper state. A. 
close observation of those productions, in 
which nature works herself spontaneously — 
and nature being invariably guided by the 
state of the seasons and the earth — would 
afford in time an infallible rule to him, and 
prevent "the sower sowing with sweat, what 
the reaper reaps with sorrow." 

It is true that nobody has, as yet, been 
able to show what trees providence has in- 
tended should be our calendar. The hints 
of Linnaeus, however, constitute a universal 
rule ; for trees and shrubs bud, leaf, flower, 
and shed their leaves in every country, ac- 
cording to the differences of the seasons. 
Stillingfleet is the only man who has at- 
tempted a Calendar ; but the farmer who 
would use the sublime idea of Linnaeus, 
should himself mark the time of budding, 
leafing, and flowering of different plants. 

Let not the philosopher, in the depth of 
his astronomy, nor the moralist, in his stu- 
dies of human nature, look with contempt 
upon scenes and circumstances that can 
afford such instruction as trees and flowers. 
And what a sublime idea — to construct from 
such observations a grammar, as it were, of 
nature — to make every flower operate as 
an example, and every leaf to bear a lesson ! 



Bashful flower of azure hue ! 
Breathing perfume, gemm'd with dew ; 
Sweetest of the glorious train 
Spring has scattered o'er the plain, 
Brightest in his coronet — 
Welcome, early violet ! 

Northern winds no longer blow, 
Melted is both ice and snow ; 
Ancient trees begin to bud, 
Music rings through every wood, 
And the sparkling streams flash on 
With a silver singing tone, 
Whilst the ruby-spotted trout 
From his still pool leapeth out ; 
Where the gauze-wing'd insects play 
In the sun's reviving ray, 
Blooms — like earth-born stars, are seen, 
Spangling all the meadows green. 

In the wild wood paths behold 
Yellow primroses unfold, — 
And the harebell lifts her head — 
And the kingcup brood is spread — 
And the daisy, way-side flower, 
Opens wide at early hour — 
And the scarlet pimpernel 
Joyously expands her cell ; 
But of all the host so fair 
Loveliest beyond compare — 
Turquoise amid emeralds set — 
First art thou, meek Violet ! 

Now amid the long grass hiding, 

Where some bubbling brook goes chiding ; 

Now close to the old briar's root, 

Now low at the grey rock's foot, 

Now deep in the hawthorn glen, — 

Ever shrinking from our ken, 

Only by their scent we know 

Where the odorous blossoms grow. 

Often thus has holy worth 

In secluded scenes its birth — 

Often thus is genius found 

Denizen of bleakest ground ; 

And hearts touched with heavenly fire, 

In obscurity expire ! 

When the morning's crystal dew 
Glistens in thy chalice blue, 
Ere the sun has kissed it dry — 
Like Joy's tear in Beauty's eye — 
Or when parting clouds have shed 
Freshness round thy velvet bed ; — 
Or mild evening's moisture cool 
Studs thy petals beautiful, 
Each faint breeze that o'er thee blows 
Scatters odor where it goes, 
And sweeping on in current free, 
Fragrance gains by wooing thee — 
Such as thou dost always fling, 
Bud of promise, flower of Spring, 
And throughout the genial time, 
Night, or noon, or hour of prime. 

Roses rich let others seek, 

I will cull the Violet meek ; 

Lilies bright let others praise, 

Flaunting in the summer rays ; 

Hoses cloth'd in crimson rare, 

Cannot with thy flower compare ; 

Neither can the lilies claim, 

In their robes of gold and flame, 

Perfume like my Violet — 

Fairest gem in Spring's wreath set ! 

Flower resembling Helen's eye, 
In thy purity of dye — 
Flower that shrinkest into shade, 
Like the coy retiring maid — 
Thee I'll always laud and praise 
In my rude unstudied lays. 
And because thou fadest soon, 
Withered by the glowing noon — 
For thee we will obtain a throne 
Ariel's self might proudly own. 

Go ! on "my love's " bosom lie, 
There, exhaling sweetness, die ! 
So honor'd thou couldst not repine — 



Talk of the love that outlives adversity ! the 
love that remains with prosperity is a thousand 
times more rare. The one is the keen, but bracing 
north wind of existence, that invigorates and 
nerves for exertion ; the other is the enervating 
hot-breath of summer, which sicklies and weakens 
our best resolves ; making us feverish, captious, 
and suspicious even of those we love best. 




The Moccas-Park Oak, says Strutt, is 
thirty six feet in circumference, at three 
feet from the ground. It stands in the 
Park of Moccas Court, on the banks of the 
Wye, in Herefordshire— the seat of Sir 
George Amyand Cornwall, Bart., who traces 
his ancestry from Richard, second son of 
King John, Earl of Cornwall, and King of 
the Romans. 

The whole estate, from the very nature 
of its situation — forming part of the borders 
between England and Wales — is fraught with 
historical associations, which extend them- 
selves, with pleasing interest, to this ancient 
" monarch of the wood," amongst whose 
boughs the war-cry has often reverberated 
in former ages; and who has witnessed many 
a fierce contention, under our Henrys, and our 
Edwards, hand-to-hand, and foot-to-foot, for 
the domains on which he still survives. 
There he lives, in venerable, though decay- 
ing majesty; surrounded by aged denizens of 
the forest, the oldest of whom, nevertheless, 
compared with himself, seems but as yester- 
day. The stillness of the scene, at the 
present time, forms a soothing contrast to 
the recollections of the turbulent past ; and 
the following lines are so in harmony with 
the reflections it is calculated to awaken, 
that it is hoped the transplanting of them 
from the pages of a brother amateur of the 
forests, to the page before us, will not dis- 
please him or the reader : — 

" Than a tree, a grander child earth bears not ! 

What are the boasted palaces of man, 

Imperial city or triumphal arch, 

To forests of immeasurable extent, 

Which Time confirms, — which centuries waste 

Oaks gather strength for ages ; and when at last 
They wane, so beauteous in decrepitude, 
So grand in weakness ! E'en in their decay 
So venerable ! 'Twere sacrilege t' escape 
The consecrating touch of time. Time watched 
The blossom of the parent bough. Time saw 
The acorn loosen from the spray. Time passed, 
While, springing from its swaddling shell, yon 

The cloud-crown'd monarch of our woods, by 

Environ'd, 'scaped the raven's bill, the tooth 
Of goat and deer, the schoolboy's knife — and 

A royal hero, from his nurse's arms. 
Time gave it seasons, and Time gave it years; 
Ages bestow'd, and centuries grudged not. 
Time knew the sapling, when gay summer's 

Shook to the roots the infant oak, which after 
Tempests moved not. Time hollowed in its 

A tomb for centuries ; and buried there 
The epochs of the rise and fall of States, 
The fading generations of the world — 
TnE Memory of Man. Puss. 


And had not nature's serjeant (that is, order) 

Them well disposed by his busie paine, 

And i-aunged farre abroad in every border, 

They would have caused much confusion and disorder. 

We cannot fail, Mr. Editor, to have 
observed, in the general harmony of nature, 
a grand example of the same order that 
should exist among ourselves ; and, at the 
same time, the most convincing proof of its 
economy and importance. Pope has de- 
clared — 

Order is heaven's first law : 

the immutable truth of which, every one 
may determine for himself, if but a moment's 
thought be devoted to the contemplation of 
those numberless orbs that are the majestic 
tenants of the space around us ; each revolv- 
ing in their continual and prescribed circuit, 
each affording its decreed ray of light or 
cherishing warmth — its seasons — and its suc- 
cession of day and night. 

The minor harmonies of nature are seen 
in the instinct and habits of the ant, humble- 
bee, beaver, and many others, whose cities 
and empires are upheld by unfailing rule and 
discipline. To insects, quadrupeds, &c, 
Providence has endowed fixed instinctive 
attributes, neither changed nor amended in 
nature by subsequent ordination. To man 
has been given not only the faculty of dis- 
cerning the wisdom of nature's dowries, but 
also the privilege of improving them, by 
ennobling and praiseworthy pursuits. Per- 
haps no auxiliary is of more importance 
towards the proper execution of our various 
undertakings, than that of order ; it renders 
tedious pursuits pleasant, and arduous ones 
comparatively easy. The failures we fre- 
quently experience in our every-day specu- 
lations, are too often attributed to that 
bugbear — that unmeaning and mysterious 
agency, chance ; whereas, in nearly every 
instance, the improper application of the 
advantages we possess constitutes the chief 
cause of our (so called) ill-fortune. Where 
order is pre-eminent, there shines the pleasant 
face of success ; at once the reward of our 
methodical endeavors, and an invitation to 

Among the many good branches that spring 
from the mother germ — order, none occupy 
a higher place in the estimation of the world 
than punctuality, though it is to be feared, 
'tis more loved than practised. Method is the 
companion of thought. It often comprises 
a peculiarity that hangs on the memory. 
Thought originates action ; and action leads 
to punctuality. 

When it is considered that by far the 
greater portion of our happiness or unhap- 
piness is the direct effect of ramifications, 
proceeding, in different shapes, from order 



and disorder, the importance of the one will 
serve to demonstrate the evil of the other. 
Method has been termed " the very hinge of 
business"— a declaration equivalent, in an 
opposite sense, to another that carries with 
it the proof of its justice. Disorder is the 
very soul of ruin. Truths, these, that ought 
to hang, in letters of gold, as an ornament to 
every mantel-piece in the kingdom. 

Not least, in its many guises of worth, does 
it appear in the comforts of the hearth and 
our domestic concerns. Good management 
is but another name for order. They are 
sisters, and go hand-in-hand with each other ; 
in the kitchen and the field. The methodical 
master has the best servant. His work is 
done best, soonest, and the most cheerfully. 
The methodical mistress serves to form the 
characters of her maids. There are proper 
places for particular articles, and proper times 
for particular work. Everything is effected 
without great bustle, and each minute is ap- 
propriated coolly but effectually. The un- 
methodical mistress has domestics of the 
same spirit ; or if, indeed, she does possess a 
good one, she can never think so, because she 
is unlike herself. If her proceedings coincide 
with those of the mistress, of course no fault 
can be found with misplaced dishes and 
tureens ; for she naturally thinks the more 
conspicuous and scattered, the more business 
must be going forward. 

The value of order cannot appear more 
obvious than in the faculty of memory. Some 
enjoy a natural tenacity of memory, by whom 
such an auxiliary as order is not so much ap- 
preciated. It is much easier to commit to 
remembrance a quantity of figures or signs, 
arranged so as to follow in order according 
to value or quality, than the same without 
regard to either. Children learn lessons in 
poetry more easily than they can the same 
ideas in prose ; more easily still, if the termi- 
nations of the lines have a consonance with 
each other — what we familiarly term rhythm, 
from the fact, perhaps, that harmony leads 
the expectation onward to consecutive lines. 
So it is with every subject that engages our 
attention. The quality of our thoughts 
should have a careful arrangement, in order 
that each may be employed in its full force 
and value, and probably give birth to others 
of still greater worth. 

Instances might be multiplied in order to 
demonstrate the power of order. 

It is the prop of the universe ; for by it 
are its words regulated. It is the strength of 
cities and nations ; for the strength of their 
defenders centres in their discipline, and 
therefore constitutes their safety. It is the 
prosperity of families ; for " the house divided 
against itself cannot stand." It is a character 
alone for a man to be orderly, for it never 
causes his business to be hurried, or half 

done ; makes him a man of his word ; and con- 
sequently respected. It is the parent of 
wealth, for the order of business is money in 
perspective, with a certainty of possessing it. 
It is also the parent of learning. Blair says, 
" They who are learning to compose and ar- 
range their sentences with accuracy and 
order, are learning at the same time to think 
with accuracy and order. 1 ' 

As a closing eulogy, it may be termed the 
mysterious elixir for the prolongation of life ! 
Order of action produces economy of time ; 
and economy of time, whether attained by 
early hours at night and morning, or the 
devotion of what we have to laudable pur- 
poses, is nothing more nor less than enjoying 
a happy longevity. 

H. R. 



Photographs, or " light pictures," are 
formed by the action of light upon a chemi- 
cally-prepared surface. Every one knows 
how light fades or changes the color of al- 
most everything submitted to its influence. 
Darkness or the want of light entirely bleaches 
many substances. Many vegetable juices 
change color on exposure to light ; and it 
causes a solution of nitrate of silver, and some 
other chemicals, to assume a dark or black 
color. Leaves and lace were first copied on 
prepared paper, by merely laying them upon 
it ; thus preventing the light from acting 
upon the part covered by their leaves, &c. 
The picture formed by a lens in a camera- 
obscura, was next made permanent by the 
action of light on a prepared surface. The 
various colors and shadows of the picture, 
act in different degrees ; so as to produce 
from the colored image in the camera, a deli- 
cately-shaded picture on the prepared sur- 
face. Various processes are required to ren- 
der the pictures thus produced permanent, or 
to secure them from the further action of the 
light when the picture is once formed. Were 
this not done, the continued action of the 
light would obliterate the picture and reduce 
it to a uniform black. 

Photographic pictures are now taken on 
three different materials — silver, paper, and 
glass. The pictures on silvered plates are 
what are called daguerreotypes. They are 
much used for portraits ; but their expense, 
the labor of cleaning large plates, the incon- 
venience and danger of their preparation from 
the mercury which must be used, and the 
metallic glare of the pictures — render them 
ill adapted for landscapes, which are now 
scarcely ever taken in this style. For some 
years, too, there has been no improvement 
in daguerreotypes. We have portraits taken 



five years ago, which have never been sur- 

In the late exhibition at the Society of Arts, 
there were no daguerrotypes. The whole of 
the pictures were on paper or glass. The 
pictures on paper were by far the most nu- 
merous. They are all the result of a double 
process. The picture first taken is called 
a negative. The lights and shades are in 
it all reversed ; because the light darkens the 
prepared paper just in proportion to its in- 
tensity ; so that the white parts of a landscape 
or building are dark in the picture, and the 
dark parts light. This picture being laid 
upon another sheet of prepared paper, and 
pressed closely to it by a sheet of glass, the 
light parts allow the light to pass through 
and darken the paper beneath ; while the 
shaded parts keep off the light from the pa- 
per beneath, and it therefore remains white 
or of a lighter shade. This process acts so 
uniformly and regularly in all the varying 
lights and shadows, that a picture is pro- 
duced just the reverse of the first one ; the 
most delicate lights and shadows being accu- 
rately represented, as in nature. This is 
called a positive picture, and all the pictures 
on paper in the exhibition have been obtained 
by a similar process. 

As the transparency of the negative pic- 
ture is of importance to obtain a good posi- 
tive, some operators wax the negative, to ren- 
der it so. This is called the " waxed paper 
process." Others prepare the paper with 
albumen or white of egg. The most recent 
improvement is, however, the use of glass 
for the negative pictures. The glass is pre- 
pared either with albumen (white of egg), or 
with collodion, which is made of gun-cotton 
dissolved in ether. This coating on the 
glass receives the chemicals to be acted up- 
on by light. In the negatives taken on glass, 
the shadows are transparent, while the lights 
are opaque. The positive is then taken in 
the same manner as from a paper negative. 

The negative picture taken on glass by 
collodion, may, however, be made a positive 
itself ; for the lights which are opaque are 
rendered so by a light-colored coating or 
film. By laying the glass, therefore, on some 
dark substance, the transparent parts become 
dark, and the opaque parts light ; thus a direct 
and often beautiful picture is obtained. 

If we wish to ascertain the advantages or 
merits of the peculiar styles, we must know 
something of the process, and consider 
which is most capable of further improve- 
ment, and of supplying those imperfections 
which at present exist in the art. For 
pictures of a limited size and of a neutral 
tint we can scarcely imagine anything more 
perfect than the views exhibited by Mr. 
Owen, Mr. Buckle, and M. Constant, and 
the portraits of Mr. Sims. In the further 

progress of the art, increased size, life, and 
color, are the only desiderata. 

Of the production of colors, as in nature, 
there seems at present no sign in one process 
more than in the other. With regard to 
increased size, though the largest pictures 
in the exhibition were from paper negatives, 
we think that any one acquainted with all 
the processes, would find it more difficult to 
manipulate a very large-sized picture with 
paper than with glass. There seems scarcely 
any limit to the size of pictures on glass. 

The next point — that of obtaining more 
life in the pictures, must have struck every 
one. How much would sheep and cattle 
add to the beauty of many of the landscapes, 
and figures to the architectural views ; while 
in the Eastern scenes we miss the natives in 
their characteristic costume, to give life and 
reality to the whole. In this, the collodion 
process is infinitely superior to the paper ; 
the former not taking more seconds than the 
latter does minutes. And as the pictures 
can be in every other respect obtained 
equally good, this alone must decide the 
question of its being the process which 
offers the greatest facilities for bringing the 
art to a yet higher state of perfection. 

In this view, the positive collodion process 
is superior even to the negative ; and by it 
will probably be obtained the greatest 
triumphs in the delineation of living animal 
forms, and in catching the varying attitudes 
and expressions of the human figure. 

Photographers owe to the Society of Arts 
the knowledge of what has been done and is 
doing, both at home and on the Continent ; 
and when the next exhibition takes place, 
we shall be able to judge what progress has 
been made in the direction in which we are 
now seen to be most deficient. 



Come ! " a health ! " and it's not to be slighted 
with sips, 

A cold pulse, or a spirit supine ; 
All the blood in my heart seems to rush to my lips, 

To commingle its flow with the wine ! 

Bring a cup, of the purest and solidest ware, 

But a little antique in its shape ; 
And the juice — it must be the most racy and rare, 

All the bloom with the age of the grape ! 

Even such is the love I would celebrate now, 
At once young and mature and in prime — 

Like the tree of the orange, that bears on its bough 
The bud, blossom, and fruit at one time ! 

Then with three, as is due, let the honors be paid, 
Whilst I give with my hand, heart, and head — 

" Hebe's to heb, the fond motheb, deae 
paetnee, kind maid, 
Who fibst taught me to love, woo, and 

WED ! 

! » 





We are all dreamers. 
When sleep, 'with starry circlet, presses down 
The lids of gentle spirits, then is it that, 
In some far land awaking, we again 
The past live over ; and our hest affections, 
Memories, and hallowed thoughts come thronging 

round us, 
To melody of simple songs we loved 
When we Were children. Laugh we then, and weep, 
As Fancy takes a sad or merry mood. 


have heard some declare them- 
selves strangers to these pleas- 
ing illusions of the mind. I 
say pleasing, for such I believe 
will be their general character ; 
although they will ever partake much of the 
animus of the party who dreams, and be some- 
what allied to those pursuits, in which, when 
awake, he delights. Nor is it unfair to suppose 
that the soul, when away from her " clay tene- 
ment " (and what are our dreamy flights but 
visits of the soul to other more congenial 
scenes, when the body is sunk in repose ?) 
should delight in those pursuits which, if not 
more in accordance with her nature, are at 
least productive of agreeable and pleasurable 

Neither are dreams i: a new thing." They 
are of high antiquity — probably the first 
sleep of the first man, was productive of the 
first dream. Our great poet Milton, in his 
" Paradise Lost," has represented the Evil 
One, when on his errand of woe to our first 
parents in the garden of Eden, as 

Squat like a toad close at the ear of Eve, 
Essaying by his devilish arts to reach 
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge 
Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams. 

In earlier ages, as we read in the Sacred 
Volume, dreams were the channels through 
which many of the Divine communications 
were conveyed to men. " In a dream, in a 
vision of the night," says an inspired writer ; 
and "like as a«dream when one awaketh," 
says another. An angel spake to Laban 
in a dream (Gen. xxiv.) ; the Lord appeared 
to Solomon in a dream (1 Kings iii. 5); 
Joseph was warned of God in a dream (Mat. 
ii. 12) ; and though this is no longer the case, 
a degree of importance is yet attached to 
them by the more superstitious around us, 
which has probably been thus originally pro- 
duced. This is to say nothing of the many 
nonsensical interpretations of dreams which 
have appeared amongst us, and which almost 
every one has seen. 

But it is not on account of their high anti- 
quity, of their original importance, or of the 
present superstitious feeling which prevails, 
that I now write. An idea of a far more 
interesting character has often struck me 

when reflecting upon dreams. 1 have fre- 
quently been struck, with the vividness with 
which these visions of the night have betn 
portrayed, the distinctness with which they 
have been remembered, the accuracy with 
which every word spoken has been retained — 
when the morning light has again aroused us 
to a more material existence. This has led 
me to consider, that a not very improbable, 
but rather a pretty correct idea respecting the 
existence of the soul after death, and of its 
capabilities for enjoyments, or the reverse, 
may be gathered from the phenomena of a 

That this is an idea altogether original, I 
do not suppose. Death has so generally been 
regarded as a " long sleep," that it would be 
unfair to presume none have ever similarly 
considered the existence of the soul during 
that period as something like a " long dream." 
May not also an after and continued existence 
of the soul, or that part of the compound 
man to which belongs volition, be positively 
inferred from these phenomena ? I think it 
may. Save the continued action of the 
respiratory organs, and the pulsation of the 
heart during sleep, we are frequently to all 
appearance dead ; as motionless as ever we 
shall be in the silent grave. Yet our minds 
are active — probably never at rest, continu- 
ally wandering here and there in our dreams. 
And suppose that, by some sudden stroke, the 
motion of those organs was to be stopped, 
the heart's pulsations to be arrested, and 
death, or the absence of life, to possess our 
material frame : — what are we to expect 
would result to that roving mind — that active 
principle of volition of which we speak ; or 
rather to that substance to which that prin- 
ciple belongs ? Would the same blow arrest 
it also in its career, and consign it to the 
same state of inaction, no more to resume its 
activity, as the body in which it was con- 
tained ? or would it not rather release it from 
the shell in which it could not longer be bene- 
ficially employed, and restore it, a spark of the 
divine effulgence, to that hand whence it first 
sprung? Such I conceive to be by far the 
most rational, as it is by far the most pleasing 

In our dreams we walk, though our feet stir 
not from the bed ; we touch, though our hands 
never move from our sides ; we see, though 
our eyes are fast closed by their protecting 
lids, and the darkness of night surrounds us ; 
we eat, drink, and enjoy food, though our 
mouth is never opened, save to allow the 

* Our own conviction on this matter, is pre- 
cisely similar to that of our correspondent. The 
" spirit " of a good man no doubt returns, at his 
death, immediately into the hand of his Maker. 
The soul is imperishable — forming (for good or 
evil) a grand link in the divine chain of Provi- 
dence — through time and in eternity. — Ed. K. J. 

Vol. III.— 10. 



passage of breath, and our palate never re- 
ceives a single impression from the material 
world. We talk — yet, save in the case of 
more than ordinary excitement, we do not 
open our lips ; we are subjects of mirth and 
mischief, joy and grief, hope and despair, 
pleasure and pain ; we receive and we impart ; 
we love and hate ; we admire and envy ; we 
stand still, or travel ; we fly to a distant part 
of the world, or we chat with a friend in an 
adjoining room. And yet, notwithstanding 
we do all this, and more besides, we lie all 
the while without moving a part of the mate- 
rial framework of man from the pillow on 
which it rests. And these varied scenes we 
appear to enjoy with a greater zest — with a 
higher relish even than when we are awake. 
How often have we regretted that, in the 
midst of our ench intment, the spell has been 
broken ; a rude pull from another's arm has 
disturbed us, and recalled us most unwillingly 
to our daily calling and cares ! 

May not a consideration of these things, 
which are every man's dreaming experience, 
afford a very good idea of what a spiritual 
existence may be ? We see clearly that the 
vestures of clay in which the soul is wrapped 
are not necessary to its happiness, but are 
rather a drawback therefrom. Therefore, 
that when it is released from these trammels, 
its capabilities for enjoyment, or the reverse, 
will be proportionably increased. Nor will 
the soul be awakened from that long dream, 
to resume a position within such a containing 
shell ; for, when the last trumpet shall be 
blown, to summon all these innumerable 
spirits to the bar of their Maker, " we shall 
all be changed," and stand arrayed in other 
garb, to receive from Him a sentence, awarded 
according to the manner in which those in- 
fluences which each spirit possessed, were 
exerted for good or for evil, during its sojourn 
on earth. 

By way of conclusion to these remarks, I 
will now relate a most striking instance of 
the activity of the mind in a dream, which 
occurred under my notice ; and I trust it will 
not be uninteresting to your readers, bearing, 
as it does, somewhat upon the subject in hand. 
One evening, sitting at the table in my bed- 
room, engaged in the perusal of a book (as 
was my usual custom before retiring to rest), 
my companion, of a less studious turn, having 
already ensconced himself between the sheets, 
my attention was arrested by a violent agita 
tion of the bed. So violent was it, that it 
shook the whole of the room. Turning round 
to see what was the matter (the shaking 
still continuing), I rose from my seat and walked 
to the side ofthebed,to examine into its cause. 
There I stood for some time, unable to dis- 
cover any adequate cause for such an unusual 
excitation on the part of my companion. He 
lay with his face downwards, his hands grasped 

convulsively the pillows, every limb was in 
motion, and almost every minute his feet were 
vigorously applied to the sides of the bed, 
in the shape of a hearty kick. At length he 
spoke, and continued to utter for some time, 
a succession of short, broken sentences,which 
enabled me to unravel the mystery. His 
mind, ever more at home in the pursuits of 
the Held, the hunt, or the chase, than in the 
dull, plodding labors of the counter or desk, 
was now in the height of its glory. He was 
in full career, with a set of fox-hunting com- 
panions, after a sly Reynard winch had just 
broken cover, and was dashing away in 
gallant style across a difficult country ; for 
such his remarks enabled me to ascertain. 
His bed was the steed on which he rode, and 
on which his spur-less feet were so liberally 
bestowed ; his hands grasped the pillow for 
reins, and the great agitation of the bed was 
occasioned by his regular heavings in the 
saddle, as he supposed, when in full trot after 
the hounds. So loud were some of the 
shouts he gave — the " Tally ho's," '* Gone 
away," and others of the hunter's vocabu- 
lary, that he awoke a party sleeping in an 
apartment at some distance, who, equally 
surprised with myself, came to see what was 
the cause. He also remained with me, by the 
side of the bed, for some time. The young 
man led us through the whole of the chase ; 
every incident likely to occur — the leap, the 
fall, the check, each distinctly marked by 
corresponding expressions, till all was over — 
he in at the death. This produced, as it 
were, a paroxysm of joy, after which he 
settled gradually down to his usual tranquil 
state. I then awoke him, and when he 
was fully roused, asked him where he had 
been. He directly told me, hunting, in a 
certain neighborhood, naming the place ; 
and then related every circumstance just as 
I had noticed them to occur. Nor was he 
at all aware of the noise he had been making 
in the room. 

This incident, though somewhat peculiar 
in its attendant circumstances, I should not 
imagine to be entirely without a parallel ; 
yet I have never, either before or since, had 
the opportunity of witnessing such a scene. 
This may be considered, also, as forming a 
striking exception to the rule which some of 
our most learned metaphysicians have laid 
down, viz., that the longest dreams do not 
exceed a few minutes' duration. The young 
man of whom I have spoken, was not less 
than half an hour under the influence of the 
dream I have related. Other circumstances 
have also caused me to think, that there are 
very many exceptions to that rule ; which 
derives greater probability, I consider, from 
the many changes of scene, and from the 
introduction of so many different characters 
as occur in some of our dreams. -^ 





The habits of this bird are very 
curious — so curious that they deserve a place 
in our Journal. The subjoined particu- 
lars are gleaned from Audubon, Macgil- 
livray, Dr. Edmonston, Low, Temminck, and 

The great cormorant occurs in consider- 
able numbers, here and there, on all our 
rocky coasts ; frequenting bold headlands, 
high cliffs, and rugged insular crags. It 
generally keeps apart from the crested cor- 
morant, and, when the two species occur in 
the same locality, assumes a more elevated 
station — the other betaking itself to the caves, 
or perching on the lower shelves. At certain 
states of the tide — chiefly, I think, says Mac- 
gillivray, about low water, and not at any 
particular time of the day, for I have ob- 
served them early in the morning, at noon, 
and in the evening — the cormorants may be 
seen standing lazily on the rocks, some with 
outspread wings, as if sunning themselves, 
or drying their plumage; others reposing, 
with the head under one of their wings, or 
directed forwards on their retracted neck. 
Should a boat approach them they soon be- 
come alarmed, raise one foot after the other, 
and throw their long necks about in a singu- 
lar manner ; straining themselves to see the 
intruders, their sight being apparently not 
very clear in the open air, however penetrat- 
ing in the water. I have thought it remark- 
able, that they will allow a vessel propelled 
by steam to pass much nearer than an ordi- 
nary boat, without removing ; but this is 
equally the case with many other sea-birds. 
When fairly alarmed, they take to wing ; 
launching in a curved line, and then flying 
low over the water, with a moderately quick, 
sedate, and even flight, usually in silence. 

Sometimes, however, they plunge head- 
long into the water, and emerge at a great 
distance. I have never seen them alight 
on land anywhere but on rock ; and there, 
besides being restrained by the nature of 
the place, their motions are awkward, they 
not being at all fitted for walking. They 
alight heavily, and rather abruptly, keep 
in a much inclined position, and seldom 
remove to any distance. On the sea also 
they alight heavily, and sit deep in the 
water, having the faculty, when apprehen- 
sive of danger, of sinking still deeper, so 
as to leave little exposed to view. They 
swim with surprising speed, often immerse 
their bill, and even the whole head, as they 
proceed ; and dive with extreme agility, 
with a sudden dart, and without opening 
their wings until they are under the sur- 
face, but then using them, as well as their | 

feet, to propel themselves. I have usually 
found fragments of quartz and bits of stone 
in their stomach ; but these may have been 
swallowed by the fishes on which they had 
fed ; for the membranous structure of the 
stomach incapacitates it from pounding or 
grinding the food. 

These birds seldom roost all the year 
round, in the places where they nestle ; but 
generally after the breeding season repose 
at night on some rock at a convenient dis- 
tance from their fishing stations, which, dur- 
ing winter, are chiefly in estuaries, bays, and 
creeks, although often also in the open sea. 
In one of the islands in the Sound of Harris, 
is a rock on which these birds rest at night, 
especially in winter. A person well acquain- 
ted with the place, as I have been informed, 
has ascended the cliff in the dark, and mov- 
ing cautiously, has secured a considerable 
number of individuals before the rest became 
alarmed, breaking by a sudden bend the 
neck of each as he caught it. 

The natives of St. Kilda use the same 
method in catching gannets. The cormo- 
rants fly to and from these places in strings, 
at no great height over the water ; with a 
steady and moderately quick flight, strongly 
contrasted with that of gulls and terns, which 
are ever deviating on either side, and resem- 
bling that of the gannets, which, however, 
have a lighter flight, and sail at frequent 
intervals. Shy and suspicious, they seldom, 
even in the most unfrequented places, allow 
a near approach ; and when fishing in a creek, 
or place overlooked by high banks, are par- 
ticularly vigilant. If they see a person at 
some distance, they sink their body deeper 
in the water ; and should one come nearer, 
they keep it entirely submersed, the head 
and part of the neck only being visible. As 
they dive with extreme rapidity, it is very 
difficult to shoot them while they are fishing. 
They are not much in request, however, 
among sportsmen and poachers ; for, although 
in some remote parts their flesh is esteemed 
tolerable eating, it is a dark red color, dis- 
agreeable to the eye not less than to the 
palate; but its being strong flavored or 
fishy renders it not inapt for soup, in the 
state of which the juices of the cormorant 
are not unpleasant. The young are some- 
what better, but the eggs are never eaten. 

In spring, when the nuptial dress is ad- 
vanced, they pair; and soon after betake 
themselves to their breeding-places — usually 
shelves of exposed rock, at a considerable 
height, and easily discovered by the quan- 
tity of white dung spread around. The 
nest is very large, and rudely formed, being 
composed of sticks and sea-weeds, neaped 
up sometimes to the height of a foot, or 
more, with a shallow cavity at the top. 
The eggs, generally three, sometimes four, 




are of an oblong form —two inches and 
eight-twelfths in length, an inch and three- 
fourths in breadth, and, like those of every 
other species of cormorant, may be des- 
cribed as having a thick roughish blueish- 
white shell, irregularly crusted over with 
a layer of white, calcareous matter, easily 
removed with a sponge and water. 

There is nothing particularly estimable 
in the character of the cormorant. It is 
extremely attentive to its young, quiet and 
inoffensive in its general conduct, of a 
sluggish disposition, unless when in the 
water, and then exhibiting the greatest 
activity. Its voice is a low, hoarse croak, 
seldom heard. Extremely voracious, it swal- 
lows an enormous quantity of food ; but in 
this respect it is rivalled by the gannet, the 
goosanders, and indeed almost all sea-birds. 
"When it betakes itself, as it sometimes does 
in winter, to fish-ponds, it commits great 
havoc. At that season, it often ascends rivers ; 
and is sometimes seen perched on the trees, 
which is no way remarkable, as the cormo- 
rants of warm climates, when the shores are 
low, not only perch, but nestle, on the man- 
groves. It is easily tamed, and is then 
familiar, and even manifests an affectionate 
disposition. An interesting account is given 
by Montagu of one which he kept for a long 
time ; but as his narrative is too lengthy to 
be inserted here, we shall present it in an 
abridged form. 

The bird in question, was surprised by a 
Newfoundland dog, belonging to a fisherman, 
under the banks of a rivulet that ran into 
the Bristol channel. In about a week it was 
perfectly familiarised ; making one in the 
family circle round the fire, and suffering the 
caresses of the children, who were very un- 
willing to part with it. On being conveyed 
to the ornithologist's, and liberated, it was 
offered everv sort of food at hand, there 
being no fish ; but refused it, and therefore 
was forcibly crammed with flesh. On being 
removed to an aquatic menagerie, and let 
loose, it instantly plunged into the water, 
and dived incessantly ; but not obtaining a 
single fish, appeared to be convinced there 
were none, and made no other attempt for 
three days, during which it was crammed with 
flesh. Its proper food, however, was at length 
procured for it. It dived, and seized its prey 
with surprising dexterity ; frequently pro- 
ceeding under the surface to the place where 
a fish had been thrown, and when the water 
was clear, taking it with certainty, often be- 
fore it fell to the bottom. It readily de- 
voured three or four pounds of fish, twice a 
day, so rapid was its digestion. When a large 
fish stuck in the gullet, it inflated that part, 
and shook the head and neck violently to 
promote its passage. In fishing it always 
carried the head under water, in order, ap- 

parently, to discover its prey at a greater 
distance, and with more certainty. All fish 
were invariably tinned in the bill, so as to 
present the head foremost ; and when an eel, 
the most favorite food, was not seized favor- 
ably, it was thrown up to some distance, 
and caught in such a manner as to render 
deglutition easy. It had a habit of beating 
the water with its wings violently, without 
moving from the spot ; each beating being 
succeeded by a shake of the whole body and 
a ruffling of all the feathers, at the same time 
covering itself with the water. This action 
it repeated ten or twenty times with small 
intervals of rest, and then repaired to a stump, 
or some elevated place on shore, and spread 
or flapped its whigs until they were dry. It 
lived in perfect harmony with other birds, 
and never attempted to ramble ; but walking 
to the house, entered the first open door 
without deference to any one, and in fact was 
trouble somely tame. 

Mr. Audubon accounts for the flappings 
above mentioned hi this manner : — ' Cormo 
rants, pelicans, ducks, and other water birds 
of various kinds, are, like land birds, at 
times infested with insects, which lodge near 
the roots of their feathers ; and to clear 
themselves of this vermin, they beat up the 
water about them by flapping their wings, 
their feathers being all the while ruffled up. 
They rub or scratch themselves with their feet 
and claws, much in the same manner as tur- 
keys and most land-birds act, when scatter- 
ing up the dry warm earth or sand over them. 
The water-birds, after thus cleaning them- 
selves, remove, if perchers and able to fly, 
to the branches of trees, spread out their 
wings and tail in the sun, and after a while 
dress their plumage. Those which are not 
perchers, or whose wings are too wet, swim 
to the shores, or to such banks or rocks as 
are above water, and there perform the same 

This species is not nearly so common in 
! the Hebrides, or along the western and north- 
\ ern coasts of Scotland, as the crested cor- 
j morant. In Shetland, as Dr. Edmonston in- 
i forms me, "it is pretty numerous, though not 
| by far so much so as the shag. It is," he 
> continues, " social in the breeding season, 
■ several pairs having their nests near each 
other on the same cliff, and at a greater alti- 
tude than the other species. It also, at other 
seasons, perches and roosts in higher situa- 
tions, and has a more lofty and easy flight. 
| Its mode of diving is somewhat like that of 
the great northern diver, gliding gently un- 
der, not like the shag, per saltitm. It is very 
easily tamed, and displays great sagacity, 
gentleness, and affection. I see no reason 
why it might not be made of as great use as 
' its fishing relative in China. The young 
; often frequent fresh-water lochs. It is a beau- 



tiful, intelligent, and interesting birdj and 
does not deserve the popular odium which 
Milton— it may be justly as a poet, but most 
unjustly as a naturalist — 'has affixed to it. 
It produces usually three, seldom four young." 
Mr. Low says it " is very frequent " in Ork- 
ney, " both in salt and fresh water ; continues 
all the year living on fish, of which it de- 
stroys great numbers. The cormorant seems 
to have but little other concern than how to 
eat enough ; it is, indeed, surprising what 
quantities of fish it will gorge itself with, 
and, when it has tilled itself to the throat, it 
retires to some point, where it sits till hun- 
ger compels it to the water again." I have 
seen cormorants at the entrance of the 
Cromarty Frith, and on various parts of the 
coast, as far south as the Frith of Forth, on 
the rocky islands of which they are not un- 
common. Some rocks off Seafield Tower, 
near Kirkaldy, are a favorite resting-place 
with this and our other species, as are several 
of the rocky islets farther up the frith. Mr. 
Selby describes its nests as examined by him 
on the Fern Islands. Whether there be any 
breeding-places farther south or not, indi- 
viduals are seen and occasionally procured 
along the eastern and southern coasts ; but 
it does not appear to become numerous until 
we arrive on the coasts of AVales, where 
Montagu says he has seen " an insulated rock 
covered with their nests, which are composed 
of sticks and sea- weed." From thence, north- 
ward, they appear to be more numerous. 

It occurs equally on the coasts of the 
continent of Europe, extending as far as the 
Mediterranean. M. Temminck states its 
occurrence even in the Ganges. In North 
America, according to Mr. Audubon, it is 
rarely seen farther south than the extreme 
limits of Maryland, becomes more plentiful 
from Chesapeake Bay eastward, and is abun- 
dant on the coasts of the northern states, 
Nova Scotia, and Labrador. 


A P E I L. 

Advancing Spring profusely spreads abroad 
Flowers of all hues, -with sweetest fragrance stored. 
Where'er she treads, Lovk gladdens every plain ; 
Delight, on tiptoe, bears her lucid train. 
Sweet Hope, with conscious brow, before her lies, 
Anticipating Wealth from Summer skies. 

Here we are — at last, safely arrived 
at the month of " Smiles and Tears !" We 
have passed through many heavy trials, 
truly, to reach the goal ; but *' let bygones be 
bygones," and let us rejoice in what lies be- 
fore us. What a lovely prospect ! 

No pen, — not ours at least, can hope to 
set forth with anything like effect, what is 
now daily expanding before us. Our ear, 

our eye, our senses, — all are ravished at the 
prodigality of Nature's charms, " unfolding 
every hour." It must not be supposed, be- 
cause we have alluded to the " trials " of 
the past season, that we have individually 
been indifferent to the progress of Nature in 
the fields. Oh, no ! We have often gone 
abroad, whilst the fair sun in its weakness 
was shining hopefully upon us. We have 
watched his rise, — his journey, — and his de- 
parture. We have wandered far away, to 
enjoy those episodes of spring and winter 
united, that in the early year yield us such 
infinite delight. W 7 e have waited patiently, 
to see the sun withdraw his lovely face, the 
clouds gather blackness, and the landscape 
undergo every variety of change ; the winds 
the while howling fitfully, and the little 
birds taking shelter from the coming storm. 
Then have we buttoned our coat around us, 
and stood on an eminence to gaze around on 
the falling flakes of virgin snow, — ourself 
the only apparently living being rejoicing in 
the picture. 

Oh, these rambles ! — the thoughts that 
steal sweetly on the mind in solitude, whilst 
holding such indefinable converse with the 
God of Nature ! Some of our readers can 
comprehend our meaning fully. Others will 
deem us mad. That is of little consequence. 
In the rambles we speak of (we love to be 
quite alone in the early year), we live a 
whole life in the course of three short hours. 
If the thoughts of a mortal can be holy, — 
and we apprehend that the pure love of God 
must be a holy feeling — then are we not 
altogether a stranger to the foretaste of eter- 
nity, at such times. But we must not be 

April, as a sweet writer has remarked, is 
at once the most juvenile of the months, and 
the most feminine, — never knowing her own 
mind for a day together. Our fair readers 
must not feel offended at this little bye-play. 
It is strictly true. Fickle is she as a fond 
maiden with her first lover, — coying it with 
the young Sun till he withdraws his beams 
from her, and then weeping till she gets them 
back again. Pleasing moments of dalliance ! 
April is, doubtless, the sweetest month of the 
year, for she acts as the hand-maiden to 
May. She is to May and June, what " sweet 
fifteen," in the age of woman, is to passion- 
stricken eighteen, and perfect two-and- 
twenty. April, in fact, is to the confirmed 
summer, what the previous hope of joy is to 
the full fruition; what the boyish dream of 
love is to love itself. It is the month of 
promises ; and what are twenty performances 
compared with one promise ? 

When a promise of delight has once been 
fulfilled, it is over, and done with. But while 
it remains a promise, it remains a hope. And 
what is all good, but the hope of good ? 



What is every to-day of our life, but the 
hope, or the fear, of to-morrow t April then 
is worth two Mays ; because it tells of that 
glorious goddess in every sigh that it 
breathes, and in every tear that it lets fall. 
It is the harbinger, the herald, the prophecy, 
the foretaste, of all the beauties that are to 
follow it. The goddess April, in a word, 
has a charmed life. It is one sweet alter- 
nation of smiles, and sighs, and tears, — and 
tears, and sighs, and smiles. These go on, 
until, at last, they are consummated in the 
open laughter of rosy May. 

Far be it from us, to detain the reader 
from the enjoyment of the season. We are 
not going minutely to particularise what is 
now coming daily under the eye, but to try 
and win attention to it. Nature now is 
awakened from her trance. Her great and 
loving work is before her. She is, whilst 
we write, watering the vegetation with light 
showers, — warming it, and anon watering it 
again, — thus showing to our very eyes, her 
" own sweet hand " divested of its " cun- 
ning." She is now dressing her plants 
visibly, like a lady at her window. Do let 
us regard her handiwork 1 

March came in very quiet. On the 5th 
and 6th of the month, we were in actual 
Spring. The blackbirds, thrushes, robins, 
hedge-sparrows, and chaffinches, were sing- 
ing loudly ; and basking in the sun. All, too, 
were busily employed in the ceremonies con- 
nected with incubation. We walked abroad, 
and found a world of happiness springing 
into an active existence. Rough as March 
is, for the most part, yet is he worthy of a 
passing good word. He has brought home 
(like an honest, blustering servant as he is) 
for his young mistress, the chaste snow- 
drop, the rath primrose, the little yellow 
celandine, and violets in all their loveliness. 
To these she adds, of her own rearing, colum- 
bines, jonquils, lilies of the valley — and 
lady-smocks " all silver- white." 

Let us hope that, as the winter has been a 
severe one, and the season altogether " try- 
ing," this present April may burst upon us 
warm and genial. Easter has fallen early 
this year, and we are moving rapidly into 
Spring. The signal has gone abroad for 
recreation. All nature seems full of life and 
joy ; and as each sun- shining holiday pre- 
sents itself, every individual appears desirous 
of showing a degree of gladness above his 
fellows. It is precisely at this season, says 
Leigh Hunt, that " girls pankt in their finest 
dresses ; also youths and old men — look as if 
they should never tire of skipping along the 
green fields, enjoying the warm sunshine as 
it falls with summer beauty on the early 

Our pen has now arrived at a point, when, 
if it were not arrested, it would travel on 

for ever amidst birds, green fields, flowers, 
hedges, insects, and animated nature. This 
would bring down upon us the ire of Mr. 
John Gray, of Glasgow, who hates all 
" curious facts " recorded by people who 
" stroll " among the haunts of nature, and 
" dabble " among the indescribable beauties 
of creation. What an " amiable" individual ! 

Our readers must range the fields for them- 
selves ; and see with their own eyes what, 
after all, no description of ours could hope 
to reach. All we need add is — rise betimes, 
good folk ; rush out bodily into the bracing 
morning air. Sip the early dew ; chase the 
roving bee ; listen to the " matins " of the 
blackbird — and that god of our idolatry, the 
skylark, at break of day ; and hie far away 
for a natural appetite to enjoy the morning 

The nightingale and blackcap will be here 
in eight days. The cuckoo, too, may be 
daily looked for ; and one by one our little 
summer visitors will be found under our very 
window, singing with all the joyousness of 
renovated youth. The delights that await 
all lovers of nature, from this day forward, 
are so immense, that they can only be hinted 
at and longed for. 

If we have created "a longing" for the 
enjoyments we have so faintly anticipated, 
we shall indeed be happy. We only wish 
that some of our fair readers, whom we have 
in our mind's eye, could set out with us on a 
morning ramble. But as that would be one 
of those few pleasures which we can enjoy 
by imagination only, we will simply breathe 
the wish on paper ; and carry our dear friends 
in our rambles, deeply buried in our heart of 

Sympathetic affection travels much swifter 
than the most subtle fluid — electricity not ex- 
cepted. We feel the truth of what we say, 
while the ink is flowing from the pen ; and 
the pleasing thought causes us to experience 
all the elasticity of early youth. We have said 
— and we believe it, — that we shall never 
grow old ! 




I send you, Mr. Editor, some extracts 
from my Note Book, made during the month 
of February. What rough weather we 
have had ! Frost and snow have beset us 
all round ; and here, amid the Welsh moun- 
tains, the thermometer has been below zero. 
Talk of Baffin's Bay and its icebergs ! why, if 
we could only get a good supply of " blubber, " 
an Esquimaux might live veryjollily in these 

I never knew, till the other day, that a 



snipe could swim. I was out shooting in 
Stalloe meadows, and winged one of these 
birds, which fluttered to a small stream of 
water about a yard and a half wide ; and 
when I came up to the bank, I was not a 
little surprised to see him paddling to the 
other side, uponreaching which he very coolly 
walked up the bank and hid himself in a bush, 
where on crossing the stream, 1 found him. 

On the evening of the 6th, I heard a thrush 
singing delightfully in the trees by the 
" Cottage. " I wondered much at this, as it 
was very cold and frosty. 

" Duchess, " our old mastiff, eats snow 
when out walking with me, and seems to relish 
it much. 

Bullfinches congregate together. I noticed 
a flock of twelve, or more, among the young 
larch trees at the top of the " Freethe " 
plantation, and several ox-eyes and tomtits 
were with them, apparently eating the young 
buds, or searching for insects. Brown linnets 
also congregate together, and search the 
stubble fields ; as do also piefinches, larks, 
and yellow-hammers. 

On the 11th, while in the " Kennel Wood" 
at Fronffraith, I turned over a large flat stone, 
which lay among a lot of moss, under a larch- 
fir tree ; and, instead of seeing a beetle or 
two, three mice scampered away. Being 
taken by surprise, and thinking they were 
an early litter of young rats, I killed two 
of them ; but, shocking to relate, upon taking 
up one of them, I found it to be a pretty 
little dormouse. I can hardly describe my 
feelings of regret, when I saw the sad work 
I had committed ; for I should have endea- 
vored to capture them and place them 
in a cage, for the rest of the winter. Our 
woodman's wife has one in a little cage, which 
was caught, last autumn, in a nest in a nut 
tree. She feeds it with nuts. 

I observe that coots, when suddenly 
flushed, will, at times, rise high in the air, 
and fly over trees and hedges. 

On the 12th, I was very much struck with 
the peculiarity existing in the track of a hare 
in the snow. At intervals of twenty yards 
or so, she apparently went round and round 
in circles ; and after making several false 
starts, proceeded onwards. It struck me that 
the animal had resorted to this method to 
endeavor to " throw out" any dog that might 
follow her. 

February 13th. — The thermometer stood 
at 30 degrees, in doors. 

On the 17th, the chaffinch sung, for the first 
time this year. He and his mate frequent 
the pear tree on the lawn. The missel 
thrushes also frequent the old holly-tree, and 
eat the berries. I saw two partridges paired 
above the town. 

February 23rd. — Hedge-dunnock sings. 
There is an old saying, that all have different 

tastes ; so, I suppose that I may be excused, 
when I say that I delight in a dark windy 
day — the ground hard as flint, and the snow 
driving before the wintry blast. It is at 
such a time, accompanied by a faithful dog, 
that I sally out and seek the depths of a wood, 
or the bleak and barren hill, where, under 
the shelter of a tree or rock, I can muse the 
time away, while — 

Amid the crags, and scarce discerned on high, 
Hangs here and there a sheep, by its faint bleat 
Discovered ; while the astonished eye looks up, 
And marks it, on the precipice's brink, 
Pick its scant food secure. 

And oh ! 
What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublkne, 
Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast ; 

and hear no sound save the bleat of the sheep, 
the hoarse croak of the raven, and the 
howling wind ! It is then that the mind 
becomes rapt in thought, and the ro- 
mantic Welshman may be forgiven the fancy 
that, in the moaning blast, he hears the sound 
of his native harp, touched by the hand of an 
ancient bard ; and his fancy still increases, 
until before him in the dim mist is seen 
A form thin and spare, 
And white as snow his beard and hair ; 
Back from his brow his white locks flow, 
And the high opened forehead show ; 
O'er his pale cheek rich roses fly, 
And more than youth illumes his eye. 

As I wend my way homewards, I meet the 
sturdy laborer, retiring from his daily work, 
whistling some well-known air — no doubt 
thinking of his snug little cot, his wife, and 
children. And those pretty lines of Gold- 
smith are called to mind : - 

Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though 

He finds his little lot the lot of all ; 
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, 
To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; 
No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, 
To make him loathe his vegetable meal. 

John Matthew Jones, M.Z.S. 


" Love, for love's sake" — 0, what sweet words 

are these ! 
And what sound sense ! Love, for love's sake ! 

if all 
Would do but this, how many miseries 
Man would escape, that to his lot now fall! 
How many sweet thoughts, what felicities, 
What joyous things would hold him in fond 

thrall ! 
But, following some toad-blooded Mammonite, 
He marries not save gold comes with his bride : 
Portionless virtue now brings no delight, 
Economy has set love's sweets aside : 
Poor beauty finds no favor in his sight; 
Love is his shame, that used to be his pride. 
Yet grief is his, while they are grief above, 
Who love each other foe the sake of love. 





11 0, the world is a happy and beautiful world !" 

(Said a child that I met by the way,) 
" For, hark ! how the wild winds rush through the 

pines ; 
And see how the sunlight dances and shines 

Where the rippling waters stray. 
0, the woodlands are filled with wonderful things — 
There the woodpecker taps, and the storm-throstle 

And the squirrels are ever at play. 
There the startled water-hen claps her wings, 
And the dragon-fly airy summersaults flings ; 
And the trout breaks the pool into sparkling rings ; 
And the bulrush waves in the tangled springs, 

Where the white lily floats all day." 

11 Yes ; the world is a beautiful world," I said, 

u To a shadowless spirit like thine 1" 
A s from forest and field, through the shining hours, 
He heaped up his treasures of eggs and flowers, 

And fairy-stones rare and fine — 
At times, from copse and hollow, hard by, 
Rang out his blithe and exulting cry, 

Till the sunlight had ceased to shine : 
When the blue veil of twilight covered the sky, 
And the spirit-like stars came out on high, 
And slumber fell soft on his weary eye, 
Still he murmured — " How fast the hours do fly 

For a life so happy as mine !" 

" Oh, this world is a dark and wearisome 
world !" 

(Said an old man I met by the way,) 
" I look on my lifetime of fourscore years, 
And alas ! what a picture of gloom it appears 

Scarce touched by a golden ray ! 
What fearful phantasies fill my brain ; 
For the past, with its visions of sorrow and pain, 

Still haunts me, by night and by day» 
What is Life, when our pleasures so quickly 

wane — 
When all that we toil for and hope for, is vain ? 
Ah ! long in the dreary churchyard have lain 
The friends of my youth ; and alone I remain — 

Oh, would that I, too, were away !" 

" Yes; this world is a wearisome world !" I said, 

" To a spirit forlorn as thine !" 
As slowly he toiled through the shining hours, 
He saw not the twinkling leaves and flowers, 

His tottering feet entwine ; 
Dim shadows might waver, the rich light glow 
On his wrinkled cheek, and the merry winds 
blow — 

But his eyes with no pleasure would shine ; 
When the round red sun was sinking low, 
How sadly he shook his thin locks of snow, 
And muttered — " ! would that I too might go — 

I long to be gone ; but the hours are too slow, 

For a life so weary as mine !" 

" 'Tis a wonderful world !" I say to myself, 
As I thoughtfully walk by the way — 

II Time flies, and Eternity comcth up slow ; 

The Earth groweth old, and what more do we 
To-day than we knew yesterday ? 

That if bom, we may live just a May fly's flight, 
Or the raven's great circle span outright — ■ 

Then die, be our time what it may ; 
That night follows morning ; and morning the 

night — 
After spring-time and summer, the autumn-blight 
Brings bleak winter in ; but will Death first smite 
The branch that for years hath basked in the light, 

Or the blossom new-born to-day ?" 

Yes ; the world goeth round from sun to sun — 

Now moonlight — now starlight shine : 
Surely wiser we grow — yet the"wherefore andwhy " 
That this thing or that thing is first to die, 

Poor man hath no wit to divine. 
The morning is breaking — the cock may crow ; 
The rain and the wind may beat and blow, 

And the sky begin to shine ; 
But the child so happy some hours ago 
Is mute and blind, in death lying low I 
WTiile the old man awakes, and rocks to and fro, 
Still drearily moaning — " O, would I might go 1 

What a long, weary life is mine I" 



{Continued from Page 90.) 
Stnce last we gossipped about this 
lovely fellow, we have had changes in- 
numerable. Eat fy in February he was sing- 
ing bravely, and preparing to nest.* 'Then 
came snow, wind, frost, sleet ; and all the 
usual accompaniments of a severe winter. 
These united, kept him for a season " pain- 
fully" quiet. Still lie visited us, and came 
to share in the bounties of out store. Nor 
has he failed since, to indulge us with many 
a song. He is all right now; and busy in 
the discharge of his parental duties. We 
see him early and late ; and listen to his 
voice with a perfect ecstacy of delight. 

Much dispute exists as to the "proper 
time" for the mating of our vernal songsters. 
It is a " wise saw" with many, that February 
14th ushers in with it the "pairing of birds." 
We imagine this fond idea may have origi- 
nated in a multitude of causes, — amongst 
which, the increasing warmth of the sun, and 
its consequent effect upon the physique of 
the feathered tribe, is not the least " likely" 
of the whole. 

It is a " pretty idea" to have it so laid down. 
That the honor of the day should be accorded 
to the good Saint — " Valentine," none, we 
imagine, will take upon themselves to dispute. 
We shall not. Certain is it, that from this 
date a " change comes o'er the spirit" of all 
Nature. The mornings get lighter ; the wea- 
ther, for the most part, more genial ; the days 

* The Yorkshire Gazette, of this present year, 
records the fact of a blackbird's nest with two 
eggs, being found on the 3rd January. It was 
discovered at Brompton, by D. Ferguson, Esq., 
of Eedcar.— Ed. K. J. 



longer ; and our thoughts become more so- 
cially enlarged one towards the other. We 
have often thought, — what would this lower 
world of ours be, if deprived of the cheerful 
light and genial warmth of the mighty Sol ! 
11 Clouds and sunshine" wisely alternate 
amongst us, and give variety to the passing 
scenes of life. 

The gigantic strength of mother earth is 
now becoming daily visible. Samson-like, 
she may be held spell-bound for a season, but 
her latent energies cannot be long kept 

Long since, we saw the Snowdrop's head appear, 

The first pale blossom of th' unripened year ; 

As Flora's breath, by some transforming power, 

Had changed an icicle into a flower ! 

Its name and hue the scentless plant retains, 

Though winter lingers in its icy veins. 

The Alder trees, too, have been putting 
forth their buds energetically, and the pro- 
gress of vegetation has universally com- 
menced in right earnest. Be it ours, to 
watch its progress from day to day ! But 
our duty now lies with the imprisoned vic- 
tims in a cage ; who, just now, are being 
cruelly tortured. 

We can scarcely pass through any of the 
streets of London at this season, without ob- 
serving a blackbird in an open cage, sus- 
pended in some bleak situation out of doors. 
This is done with a view to " harden" him. 
Harden him indeed ! On the principle, we sup- 
pose, of those hard-hearted women who send 
their children out on a frosty day, with their 
legs bare — to make them"healthy." Bah ! We 
might just as reasonably turn one of our dear 
innocent boys out, without an overcoat, and 
let him sit the entire day on the top of a pole, 
in a public street. The " air" would do him 
good, — at this season. 

It were vain for us to wield our pen on 
such a subject. Song-birds are " doomed" 
to be martyrs to this adherence to an old 
custom. Hence the wiriness of their voice, 
the unsightliness of their persons, and the 
" unknown tongue" in which, for the most 
part, we are saluted as we pass under, or 
within sight of their cages. The force of our 
remark, and its naked truth, can be abun- 
cantly verified by any one passing from Par- 
liament street over Westminster Bridge. At 
the extreme corner of the last avenue, leading 
to the bridge, these we see exposed during all 
seasons, with no sides to their cages to stem 
the draughts — sky -larks, robins, &c, &c, in 
every variety. They tremble in the wind ! 

" Unhappy creatures ; worthy of a better 
fate !" have we often mentally ejaculated, as 
we passed through this public thoroughfare. 
These birds have been " tine" birds — well 
chosen in the first instance ; but our ear has 
never failed to detect their degeneracy in 
song, from time to time. Husky, wiry, in- 

harmonious, shrill, and " painful " have been 
their musical efforts ; nor would we care to 
call any one of them — our's. Neglect such 
as this, may proceed from ignorance ; but in 
the present case, ignorance cannot be called 
"bliss ;" so far, at least, as the poor birds are 
concerned. Let us, therefore, take it upon 
us to make their master " wise." In setting 
him right, we preach a practical lesson to all 


The proper food of a blackbird is — German 
paste, stale bun, and hard-boiled egg. They will 
thrive well on this, as general food. A mor- 
sel of cheese, bread and butter, a snail, an ear- 
wig, or a spider, varied with a few meal worms 
— will keep them hearty for very many years. 
Always bear in mind that your birds should 
be rendered tame and familiar, if possible. 
Attend to them yourself, and let them see 
that you are interested in their welfare. 
Careful observers are they of all personal at- 
tention, and never slow to reciprocate the 
feeling. We hold it as a doctrine, sound 
to the letter, that we can tame anything; 
aye, anybody ! Why not ? The " law of 
kindness" was never yet known to fail — in 
our memory, in any one instance where the 
heart was thrown into the endeavor to please. 
We must all fall before it. 

The reason why many blackbirds fall sick, 
and become subject to " cramp," is — the care- 
lessness shown with regard to cleanliness. 
Their sand is allowed to remain unchanged — 
perhaps a week. It is naturally damp from 
causes sufficiently obvious ; but when we 
consider that these birds are fond of washing 
and splashing, and that this operation satu- 
rates their sand with water, how needful does 
it become for us to give them dry gravelly 
sand, every morning I We always try to 
reason with people who love birds — or 
say they do, by placing them in loco parentis 
towards them. We say— " If your bird was 
your child, how would you treat it ? Would 
you neglect it — pass by without noticing it 
— or cease to think of it on every constant 
opportunity ? Would you not rather study 
its happiness, by the anticipation of what 
you know it is fond of, and ' win' its affec- 
tions by every act of kindness and endear- 
ment ?" Surely you would. Well, then, 
the cases are parallel ; for, we repeat, kind- 
ness and assiduous attention will win over 
anything and everything. We shall " die 
happy" in this firm faith ; and leave pos- 
terity to find out what now they are so slow 
to believe. 

We have said that bat-folded birds are the 
best. They are so ; because their " wild" note 
will never change. Young birds are very 
imitative ; and if kept within the hearing of 
parrots, and other such hideous monstrosities, 
the sooner their necks are wrung, or their 
liberty given them, the better. We once had 



a nestling blackbird, of whom -we were very- 
fond; and he gave early proof of the " fact ' 
on which we are now insisting ; nor was he 
the only witness for us. A second, an equally 
favorite bird of ours, shall be brought upon 
the tapis. The first, rejoicing in the name 
of" Mush " (he so christened himself), made 
friends with a neighboring pot-boy, who taught 
him to salute us, whenever we called him to 
task, with—" Oh, Cm— key ! " The second 
picked an acquaintance with an itinerant milk- 
carrier, whose instruction perfected his pupil 
in the musical enunciation of " Lul-li-e-te I " 
The name of the performer last alluded to, 
was " Jark-o." He also improvised his own 

For song, then, it has become clear that 
none but bat -folded birds can be depended 
upon. Nestlings will sing loud— aye, raise a 
whole village at four o'clock in the morning \ 
but the " wild " note forms but a small por- 
tion of their song. Any grinding organs, any 
dogs that may bark, or any cats that may 
" moll-row " — these and other drawbacks 
are fatal to the " Blackbird's Song. " If you 
are possessed of a good old bird, and can 
bring " nestlings" up under him, in a quiet 
room, — then will you succeed bravely. We 
have done so, and found the plan answer. 
In tenui labor. No one thing, however tri- 
fling, can be well done without taking suffi- 
cient pains with it. 

We have now done our best to procure 
this king of birds all proper attention. He 
is not suited to a cage, — certainly not. His 
proper position is on the summit of a tower- 
ing tree. Here his soul, ' full to overflowing,' 
can unbosom its thoughts ; and while we listen 
to them distilling on our ear, we sigh to think 
of the many cruelties we all thoughtlessly 
practise at this season, in placing such cho- 
risters in prisons of wire and wood ! We 
mean it kindly ; but could we read the pri- 
vate thoughts of our prisoners, how would 
our hearts yearn to let them be " free!" 

Before taking leave of the blackbird, — let 
us make one more effort to prevent his being 
caught and caged at this season. Will our 
kind readers rise betimes, on some fine mor- 
ning, and go abroad to listen to our hero's 
" Matins ?" If, after hearing his Morning 
Hymn, they still seek to make him prisoner 
— then indeed will WE relinquish all hopes 
of ever becoming an eminent special-pleader. 


Too nice a taste, in no matter what, is little 
less than a misfortune ; for he who is pleased with 
nothing short of perfection, has less pleasure and 
less real happiness than one who is more moderate 
in his expectation, and who is contented with life 
as he finds it. Happiness is rarely met with, 
simply because people will not seek it in a rational 


When last thy pleasant face I saw, a calmness 

filled ray heart, 
And present bliss was so complete, that fancy 

would not part 
With its image of the future, though its prospect 

looked so drear, 
When thou wouldst go, depriving me of all I 

held so dear. 

With childlike grace and innocence I've seen thy 
features beam, 

When side by side in simple faith we dreamt our 
fairy dream; 

That in after years, despite of change, in sym- 
pathy and truth, 

Maturity would still confirm the feeling of our 

I miss thy face — I mis3 thy hand ; yet love of 

thee remains. 
Affection firmly keeps her seat, and binds my 

soul in chains; 
Thy memory serves to teach me that the world 

has joy to give, 
For those who, loving faithfully, in hopeful spirit 


Oh! good the lesson I have learnt, to live in 

patient pride 
With ever-present earnest love for my enduring 

For though Fate takes away from us the faithful 

and the kind, 
Life's beacon-star is left us while remembrance 

stays behind! 

No. VIII. 

[Continued from Page 92.) 

Having now made a somewhat for- 
midable collection of the feathered tribe, 
— say about one hundred — and confined them 
all in one room, it behoves us to pay marked 
attention to their peculiarities and habits ; 
the more so, as perhaps, in the first instance, 
no two of them will be found alike in dis- 
position. By studying their likes and dislikes, 
there will be little difficulty in making them 
a " United Happy Family." If any " incor- 
rigible varlet " appears among them, out 
with him at once — by way of u example." 

We may get a good hint or two on the 
subject of colonisation from the " Happy 
Families " confined in large locomotive cages, 
which are now being exhibited in three dif- 
ferent quarters of London, daily. 

In these cages, we find living together in 
perfect amity — cats, mice, rats, pigeons, 
crows, sparrows, hawks, owls, starlings, fer- 
rets, monkeys, rabbits, weazels, young foxes, 
and leverets ; cum multis aliis. The extreme 
natural opposites seem, in all these animals, 
to have become annihilated. Thus, we see 
the sparrow and the hawk doing the loving 
and the amiable, with the most sympathetic 



affection ; the rat revelling luxuriously in the 
warm embraces of grimalkin ; the ferret and 
weazel frolicking with the rabbit; the monkey- 
carefully handling the pigeon's eggs, as he 
replaces them (after first satiating his prying 
curiosity) under the sitting mother ; and, 
among other eccentricities, the leveret 
" polk"-ing with the fox. 

Observing this same fox, some little time 
since, " cheese"-y on the crow, we bethought 
us much of the old nursery fable. The fox, 
it will be remembered, was therein described 
as a serenader, entreating a song from his 
Dulcinea in return for his flattery. "While 
thus musing, we were made aware, by a 
Dutch-built animated figure, which glided 
mysteriously round the corner, of the presence 
of a small saucer, for holding " contribu- 
tions." A fourpenny-piece was levied from 
us, voluntarily, for the pleasure we had ex- 
perienced ; and the figure's parting joke was 
worth all the money. " That one fox, Sir," 
said the animated figure, " is equal to any 
six cunning lawers ; and yet — look at the old 
rogue ! I took the edge off all his teeth 
before I had him three weeks."* 

We cannot help remarking here, that we are 
taught, by these men of low degree, a most 
salutary lesson — a lesson which might be 
advantageously studied by our wise senators 
with reference to " enlarged views " on 
political economy. 

We are not at this moment prepared — but 
we hope ere long to be so — to state " how " 
this naturally-savage colony has been brought 
to so complete a state of civilisation. There 
is no doubt that the " eye " of the master is 
the great talisman ; for it visibly acts as an 
all-powerful agent on the nerves of every one 
of the animals. They understand, beyond 
all dispute, and with a very little drilling, 
ichat is intended by their master's movements 
and peculiar expression of countenance. 
They instantly obey him. We believe " the 
stick "is, on some occasions, introduced in 
the background. It enters, no doubt, into 
combination with the other " effects." 

We have recently witnessed some striking 
examples of the power of " mesmerism," 
under certain circumstances, over certain 
individuals of our own species. The strong 
"affinity" existing between the operator and 
the person operated upon, immediately after 
the state of " somnolency " has been pro- 
duced, presents one of the most remarkable 
phenomena ever brought under our notice, 
and induces to the conviction that we have 
very often, in times past, " mesmerised" 
animals — without knowing, sufficiently well 

* Should there ever be a necessity for our again 
11 going to law," — which calamity may kind 
Heaven avert ! — this animated figure, if living, 
shall "assist" our Counsel. 

to explain, "how" we had accomplished our 
object. This is a curious and an interesting 
" inquiry," — too curious and too abstruse to 
be pursued here ; but it is well to " make 
a note," en passant, of what strikes us as 
being out of the common order of things. 

The next grand step, with a view to estab- 
lish harmony in the colony, is to see that 
each and every animal has provided for it 
its own natural food. If the pangs of hunger 
were to come on cruelly sharp ; if the hour 
of breakfast, dinner, and supper, were to be 
lost sight of, and the regular supplies stopped 
— we should have a realisation of the old 
nursery tale, " The cat began to eat the rat — 
the rat began, &c, &c." A few hours, or less, 
would devastate the colony. We can almost 
imagine we hear the bones of the bounding 
leveret, being crunched beneath the jaws of 
the salacious fox. 

Speaking of the leveret, it is worthy of 
remark that this animal, being ferai natural, 
is one of the most difficult to tame, per- 
manently, of all creatures. The late Sir 
John Sebright called on us, some years ago, 
to see our collection of robins, of which he 
had heard so much ; and during a lengthened 
conversation of great interest to both of us, 
he put us in possession of many singular 
facts with respect to animals " by nature 
wild." To mention only two : — Sir John 
told us he had procured some eggs of the 
wild duck, and placed them under a domestic 
hen. They were hatched in due course, fed, 
and brought up with the other chickens, 
ducks, &c, in the poultry-yard. Still they 
gave early signs of the wildness of their 
nature. Their flights were cut ; and thus 
were they made " apparently " tame ; but 
when the wing-feathers re-appeared, the birds 
one day, on a slight alarm, took flight, and 
disappeared altogether. 

The second instance of natural wildness 
being indomitable, presented itself in the 
case of some half-dozen wild rabbits, taken 
from the nest soon after they were kindled. 
Sir John lavished on them much of his atten- 
tion ; tried every means to tame them ; all 
in vain. The animals gave early evidence 
of the instinct of their nature, and were ulti- 
mately let loose to run riot in a warren. 

We have been led to pursue this discussion, 
in order to show how necessary it is to study 
the habits and dispositions of all birds domi- 
ciled in an aviary. This brings us to the 
grand and all important question of Proper 

Speaking of the proper food necessary to 
be provided for an aviary, we shall take it 
for granted that the season of the year of 
which we are treating is summer ; and that 
the united tribes of granivorous and insect- 
ivorous birds are together, under one roof. 
When they are separated and collected into 



distinct families, in the autumn, of course 
there will require some alteration of diet ; 
but of this we shall speak in its place. 

Having so large a family to provide for, 
and so many tastes to consult, it is sufficiently 
obvious that there must be an ample supply 
of provisions that may suit the whole. Na- 
ture will teach each bird to partake of that 
only which is easiest of digestion, and best 
adapted to its constitution. You need be 
under no apprehension on this head. As for 
physic, which some bird-fanciers prate so 
much about, we say " throw it to the dogs." 
Even they, however, will refuse to swallow 

Medicine need very seldom be resorted to. 
There are extreme cases where a little saffron 
may be serviceable ; but it never cost us 
more than one penny for saffron in our life ; 
and that was, one half of it, not used. Alter- 
native food with the feathered race, as with 
us, is far more efficient than physic. The 
one acts gently, and naturally ; the other 
deranges the system for several days ; and if 
often repeated, injures the entire system. 

We have already mentioned the "hoppers," 
or seed-boxes. These should be half rilled with 
a mixture of the best Canary, Flax, and Rape 
seeds. Of these, the proportions should be 
— Canary, one half ; the other half consisting 
of Flax and Rape. A small quantity of the 
latter will suffice, it being eaten principally 
and sparingly by the linnets. Flax is good 
for all the seed birds, keeping their stomachs 
in a healthy state. The " hoppers," as we 
have before noted, should be carefully ex- 
amined, at least once a fortnight ; and the seed 
remaining in them should be sifted, to cleanse 
it from dust and refuse matter, before re- 

For the soft-billed or insectivorous birds, 
the general or " universal " food must be made 
as follows : — Clifford's German paste, one 
pound; the yolks of six eggs, boiled hard; half 
a pint of Hemp seed, well bruised ; six plain 
stale buns ; two table-spoonfuls of best moist 
sugar. These ingredients, after being placed 
in an earthen pan (glazed), should be well 
incorporated with the naked hand, till they 
amalgamate. Throw in a small quantity of 
Maw seed before putting it into the birds' 
pans, and place the latter on the floor of the 
room. Above all, bear in active remembrance 
that the food must be fresh every day. 

In addition to the above, one or two of the 
pans should contain grated bullocks' liver 
(from the part called " the nut,") boiled hard, 
and some grated Cheshire cheese; both rubbed 
fine, and mixed with stale sweet buns, of which 
all birds are excessively fond. The buns 
should be purchased of a first-rate confec- 
tioner, otherwise they stand every chance of 
being manufactured from " kitchen-stuff." 
Many a school-boy's stomach ('* digestive " 

though it naturally be), will give satisfactory 
evidence of the truth of this remark. 

All your birds, from a canary upwards, 
will freely share in this soft food ; and they 
will thrive nobly on it. By leaving it to 
their own option what to select, you will 
find they seldom, if ever, will have any ail- 

The room must be kept well supplied with 
ripe Chickweed and Groundsell ; Lettuces (in 
season), Cherries ; Strawberries ; ripe, mel- 
low, juicy Pears ; and now and then a boiled 
mealy Potato, bruised. The " warblers " 
eat greedily of the two last ; also of soft, 
boiled, tender Cabbage. Nightingales and 
blackcaps are dearly fond ot the latter; also 
of Elderberries when ripe ; and they greatly 
luxuriate in a little raw, scraped, tender beef 
— free from fibre. The beef, when scraped, 
should be moistened with water, but not 
made too " pappy ;" and it must always be 
sweet. If tainted in the slightest degree, do 
not attempt to introduce ic. 

In the way of live food, throw in occasion- 
ally ants' eggs, small red worms, spiders, 
earwigs, mealworms, liver-gentles, et id genus 
omne. The windows being kept constantly 
open, hundreds of flies, gnats, and other mi- 
nute ephemera, will find their way in ; and no 
small amusement is it to watch the gyrations 
of the birds, as they topple over to catch 
their prey. The wag-tails, white-throats, and 
tit -larks, in particular, are most elegant in 
their motions while thus occupied. 

There have been many opinions on the 
subject of giving your birds Hemp seed. It 
certainly does tend, homceopathically, to 
shorten the duration of their lives ; but still — 
strange though true, they cannot live without 
it ! It warms their stomach, and possesses 
an oleaginous peculiarity of flavor, which, 
mixing with the other food, forms a good 
general diet. It must be given sparingly. 
Many people feed goldfinches in cages with 
Hemp seed ; this is quite a mistake. Canary 
and Flax is all they should be allowed. They 
thrive well on it, and escape getting over fat 
— the ruin of half the race. Their plumage, 
too, is always in beautiful order. 

To prevent the necessity for " medicine," 
— properly so called, let some crumbs of 
bread be scalded with boiling milk ; into this 
put some grocers' currants, after previously 
soaking them some hours in cold water. All 
soft-billed birds, nightingales, blackcaps, 
garden-warblers, and white-throats in parti- 
cular, eat voraciously of this dish ; and as 
boiled milk acts medicinally on all birds, its 
curative properties will speedily become 

If these instructions be fully carried out, 
and plenty of old mortar, well bruised, be 
kept constantly on the floor, no sanitary 
commission need ever be appointed. It is 



with birds as with ourselves — air, exercise, 
temperance, and proper diet, will " pull us 
through " to a good old age. 


The t amen ess of this lovely fellow is 
proverbial. His love for mankind is ex- 
cessive. Some few people appreciate this ; 
but far more, we are sorry to say, do not. 
In our own neighborhood, to the right and 
to the left, is every member of his* family 
that ventures beyond the precincts of our 
grounds, levelled by a hollow tube. We 
remonstrate, but are ridiculed. The same 
fate attends the blackbird and the thrush ; 
indeed, our neighbors are a very savage lot. 
But not ours only. The practice is but too 

One would think that the sight of a poor 
little shivering bird, applying plaintively at 
the window for the share of a crust, or the 
shakings of a table-cloth, would appeal, at 
this cold season, to the heart ! It does ! 
" Wait there a minute or two, 11 says Charity, 
" and Fll give you something. 11 The little 
visitor sees a bustle — anticipates relief, and, 
in a moment, either lies weltering in his 
blood, or is blown to atoms. A hoarse laugh 
rings in his dying ears. Man ! thou art a 

The joys WE have had, during the in- 
clement season, whilst shielding the various 
members of the feathered tribe from harm, 
and feeding them at our window, none can 
imagine. The gratitude, too, and confidence 
of our little friends, (eating from our hand, 
and singing the while) — are not such proofs 
of love better than a kingdom ? Truly, yes. 
We think so, at least. 

This little preamble reminds us, that our 
heading refers to an anecdote in the last 
number of the Naturalist, from whose rich 
stores we can today make only this one 
selection. The anecdole is given on the 
authority of Mrs. Murchison, of Bicester. 
We are puzzled, we confess, about the tail 
feathers ; and surmise there must be some 
little " mistake 11 about this. Still the " facts 11 
are the same : — 

A few years since, the winter set in very severe 
with deep snow. It was my custom to open my 
chamber window every morning as soon as I rose, 
and leave the door open into the dressing-room, 
which communicated with it. One morning I 
perceived, on the top of the door, a Robin, which 
had entered through the window ; after sitting 
there a short time twittering, he ventured to 
descend into the dressing-room, and by my great 
care in avoiding any sudden noise or movement 
that might alarm him, he soon became so tame 
as to hop fearlessly about the room. Gradually 
he approached the fire, and I feared he would fly 
into it. I watched him narrowly ; he first settled 

on the fender, from thenco hopped upon one of 
the logs of wood within it, where he remained till 
sufficiently warmed, turning himself round, as if 
to warcn every part, and then returned to his 
amusement of hopping about the room, picking 
up crumbs, etc. 

It is almost incredible how soon and entirely 
he became perfectly tame. At that time I break- 
fasted in my dressing-room ; and as soon as the 
breakfast appeared, he hopped on the back of the 
sofa, from thence to the table, where he helped 
himself, and once burnt his bill by his curiosity to 
taste some coffee which was too hot, and appeared, 
for a few minutes, very angry. He took crumbs 
from my hand, but preferred helping him- 
self out of the plate ; and that with so much 
assurance and familiarity, that I was fearful of 
using a knife lest I should inadvertently injure 
him. He hopped over the children's feet when 
they walked across the room ; invariably took his 
station on the sofa , and sung the whole time they 
were repeating their lessons ; but in a much lower 
and softer tone than the natural wild note of the 
Robin, which is very loud and powerful for so 
small a bird. Every day, when one of them who 
learnt music was practising, he perched upon 
the cross-bar at the top of the desk, which was 
higher than the music-book; and seemed to enjoy 
the music. 

At length he became so perfectly domesticated 
that his presence was almost forgotten by us, and 
our only care was to avoid treading on him. He 
frequently perched on my head or shoulders, and 
constantly on the back of the sofa, close to my 
elbow. He was much enraged when a looking-glass 
was placed before him, and pecked so furiously at 
his imaginary antagonist, that I was sometimes 
fearful he would injure his bill — sometimes peep- 
ing behind it like a kitten. From his first visit 
to my dressing-room, he never missed a single 
morning in making his appearance on the top of 
the door, the moment that the window was 
opened ; he was so punctual to the same hour, that 
when once or twice this was done later than usual, 
I have known him peck at the glass on the out- 
side for admission, and when the window was 
opened, he coolly waited on the outside and flew 
in directly without being at all alarmed at the 
noise. He never would sleep in the house, but 
regularly every afternoon, as soon as it drew near 
his bed -time — before which time my door and 
window were usually shut — he flew against the 
dressing-room window, and pecked at it till it was 
opened for him. 

I was anxious to know where he passed the 
nights in such inclement weather; and desiring 
the servants to watch, I found that he always 
retired into a large bottle-neck which stood in a 
court adjoining the house. He had by some 
accident entirely lost the feathers of his tail, and 
being in good case, was nearly as round as a 
ball. He did not leave me till the cold weather 
was over ; and during the winter months that he 
took shelter in my room, I never missed him a 
single day. With the first days of spring he left 
me, and entirely discontinued his daily visits ; but 
I was not a little surprised to find that the 
identical Robin, (as we ascertained both by his 
extraordinary tameness and the loss of his tail,) 
after having assisted in rearing a young family, 



made his appearance again in the spring, with 
four children — not at the dressing-room window, 
where there was scarcely a sufficient resting-place 
for the young brood, but at the nursery window, 
which was fronted by a parapet that ran round the 
house, and where they might rest for a time at a 
safe distance, and pick up the crumbs thrown to 
them without running the risk of entering the 

It is rather singular that he should always 
attend them, and never the mother. At this 
time he never left them to enter the room, or 
approached nearer to the window than was 
necessary to obtain the food, which he adminis- 
tered impartially to all. These visits were, how- 
ever, of course, not of long duration, as the young 
were soon able to provide for themselves, and the 
advancing spring furnished them with a plentiful 
supply of their natural food. 

Here, as I supposed, ended our intercourse 
with this interesting and beautiful little creature ; 
but my surprise was great when, about the 
middle of the following winter, and during some 
severe weather, our little tail-less friend again 
made his appearance; not, however, with his 
former confidence and familiarity, but with much 
more caution, and even alarm, and as if rather to 
take refuge from the attack of some enemy, than 
to obtain food, or resume his old habits. He 
rested for a minute on the door, looking suspi- 
ciously around him, then flew down, but soon 
rose again ; and after flying round the room in a 
hurried manner, endeavored to hide himself 
behind the music-stand. In short, he appeared 
so uneasy and alarmed that I opened the window, 
and he immediately darted out of it. He re- 
turned, however, occasionally, by his old entrance, 
but his visits were short, and he was wild and 
uneasy while with us. After calling home in this 
manner, now and then, for about three weeks, I 
totally lost him, and never again either saw him 
or discovered any traces of him ; and I greatly 
fear he fell a victim to one of our numerous cats, 
as he was seen in the court by the servants two 
or three times, after he had entirely discontinued 
his visits to the dressing-room. 

It may be asked, by what means I could posi- 
tively ascertain that this was the same bird which 
had visited us the preceding winter. The loss 
of his tail was a mark of distinction from others, 
(though I am surprised the feathers had not 
grown again,) but from the minute observations 
on his plumage and general appearance, which 
his familiarity had given me the opportunity of 
making during a whole winter, I think 1 could 
have distinguished him among any number of 
his species. The tameness of the Robin is 
almost proverbial ; but there was almost a mixture 
of reason with the instincts of this little animal ; 
and the recollection for so many months of the 
place where he had been sheltered during the 
preceding winter, and his return to it at the 
same period of the following year, are very re- 
markable circumstances. Had I taken this little 
bird, and confined him in a cage, I might pro- 
bably have kept him for years as a tame com- 
panion ; but I could not be so treacherous as to 
repay his unbounded confidence in us with the 
loss of liberty. 




We prophesied in our last, that we should 
win many a heart by our frank manner of 
"speaking out." We were not a false prophet ; 
as the loveable tracery of many a fair hand has, 
in various colored inks, attested on paper of every 
hue. Some say " the truth should not be spoken 
at all times." We ask — why? 

Well ; leaving the wise to their debate, let us 
employ our time more profitably. March has 
fled — and left behind it sad proofs of its power. 
Thousands and thousands who saw its advent, 
have not lived to see its close. Despising the 
ordinary rules of prudence, health has been sacri- 
ficed to appetite ; and fashionhas trampled discretion 
under her feet. Thin shoes and wet feet ; semi- 
nudity and severe cold ; excess and indisposition ; 
late hours and shattered constitutions — have tra- 
velled as usual, in company. The result is known 
by some already ; and will be felt, more or less, by 
others for years to come. 

We must again refer our readers to the article 
of last month, (see page 79), and enjoin the con- 
tinued observance of the rules we there laid down. 
March is gone, we admit, — nominally gone ; but 
we know his pranks too well not to beware of his 
ugly tricks. We slink away from the whisper of 
his breath ; but when he " blows us up," there is 
really no bearing with him. We turn and flee. 

April of late years, is not the April that once 
was. For one genial visit, we now have a dozen 
chilly ones — a hot sun and cold winds, despatching 
our inhabitants by the hundred. Fickle as a 
fair maid, the month must be guarded against. It 
promises fair ; but these promises are seldom made 
good. They are blighted by the return of Easterly 
winds ; and the very revival of increased life and 
vigor is oftentimes the source of dangerous or 
fatal inflammatory disorders. Consumption stalks 
abroad with fearful strides amongst adults ; and 
children fall a prey to measles and hooping-cough. 
Bronchitis, gout, and rheumatism, way-lay all who 
are proof against advice ; and what these enemies 
are, let those say who have faced them. 

Provide, therefore, proper clothing for the body, 
and let your feet be well and strongly shod. Avoid 
large fires, and walk abroad whenever the weather 
will admit of it. 

April is a month, in which to rise early is in- 
dispensable. There is no valid excuse for lying 
in bed. The sun is up ; the birds are up ; the 
flowers are growing ; the trees are budding ; and 
everything that has breath (man alone excepted) 
is using it to the glory of its Creator. The house 
is all very well, to shelter us when it rains ; but 
" health" must be sought abroad. Novels — those 
pestiferous emanations from half-turned heads — 
must be laid aside altogether. They poison the 
mind whilst they affect the body. Vain is it to 
court the goddess, Health, whilst we are enter- 
taining these, her enemies. She will not be thus 
wooed, or thus won. Make a clean breast of it. 
Out at once into the fields. Raise your eyes and 
heart to the blue ether. Let your ear be attuned 
to the anthem of the rising lark, and your lovely 
locks wet with the early dew of the morning. Then, 
fair maidens, come home to the well-spread table 



with a healthy appetite, your cheeks glowing with 
Nature's kisses, your breath exhaling aromatic 
perfume, and your eyes glistening with delight at 
what you have seen and heard. 

Tell your tale to such of the family as come 
crawling down, with their eyes half open, at eight 
o'clock ; and mark the contrast. Tliey will eat 
listlessly without an appetite ; sip their tea yawn- 
ing, without a relish; flirt with the "provocatives" 
which are hardly touched ; whilst you will eye 
every delicacy with delight, find a rich flavor in 
every crisp curl of thin, frizzled bacon, and go 
through all the delectable performances of the 
breakfast-table with a gusto that is perfectly en- 

This is what we prescribe. These are our rules 
for health during the month of April. Those who 
prefer physic and a long " doctor's bill," can have 
them by sending for. " It is an ill wind that blows 
nobody any good !" 


Fashion ! the leader of a chattering train, 
Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign ; 
Who shifts and changes all things but his shape, 
And would degrade his votary to an ape. 


Ours being a Journal of " Nature," par excel- 
lence, it will hardly be a matter for surprise if, now 
and then, we should come into contact with her 
sworn foe — Fashion. 

We shall not weary ourself by attacking this 
monster in all its strongholds , albeit we do now 
and then get up a laugh when we see its votaries 
so blindly led by the nose, and living such a purely 
artificial existence. Eating, drinking, sleeping, 
deforming the body, shopping, lounging, strolling, 
riding, driving, yawning, paying complimentary 
visits, receiving ditto, gossiping, talking scandal, 
and other such ephemeral passe-temps, unceasingly 
occupy the eventful lives of our west-end folk, and 
the inhabitants of our squares. We tumble over 
some of them daily, as we pursue our more 
" useful " but more humble occupation. What 
see we, as we trip along ? Carriages decked with 
ladies and lap-dogs ; fine, showy, painted, and 
made-up women, marching along the streets, fol- 
lowed by lazy, strapping men in plush ; younger 
ditto, followed by hectic or dyspeptic Pages, faced 
with gilt mushroom buttons, &c, &c. In fact, 
silks and satins, finery and bombast, carry all 
before them at the west. " 'Tis true, 'tis pity ; 
pity 'tis, 'tis true ! " 

Then, what a pretty tale do our bazaars, pan- 
theons, and exhibitions tell us, of the wearisome 
" duties " of a fashionable or " genteel " life ! How 
terribly are the frequenters of these " decoys " put 
to it, to show a happy face ! Indeed, they turn 
their faces so completely away from Nature, that 
her ladyship forbids their being happy. She is 
right. Two single days of this unmeaning round 
of fashion's follies, would finish us up completely. 
Let us be thankful that our lot is cast in a more 
rational mould, and that we live in a purer at- 
mosphere — moreover, not for ourself, but for others. 
Whilst these dead-weights — these very drones of 
society, are eking out their days in the mad 
pursuit of folly, be it ours to rival the bees in pro- 

curing good mental food for our much-loved 
readers. Life will thus be rendered sweet. Time 
will not " hang " on our hands, but our moments 
will be one round of harmless delights. 

The superficiality of the world we live in, few 
can be strangers to. We live not for ourselves, 
but for a set of idle, well-dressed people, who 
judge of us by our external deportment. The 
world seems to enjoy this empty parade — this 
unceasing round of daily ceremonies. They sigh, 
no doubt, when alone, for it must be hard work to 
live a life of hypocrisy ; but the mask is soon re- 
placed, and the farce again in full operation. We 
have said that we sometimes " get up a laugh " 
when we see these poor victims of fashion doing 
their drudgery. We repeat it ; yet is it a laugh 
of pit y rather than of anger. 

We repudiate all intention of being " ill-natured" 
in these remarks of ours. We rather wish so to 
" hold the Mirror up to Nature," that we may 
show Vice her own features, and exhibit them in 
all their naked deformity. Fashionable and 
"genteel" people never "think," — it is impos- 
sible.* They must be " different " from all the 
world, or they will lose caste. Theirs is not fine 
feeling, properly so called ; but an " exclusive " 
feeling of superiority, recognised by no denomi- 
nation of well-bred people, save their own pecu- 
liar " set." All below them are considered bar- 
barians, and are treated as such. Benignant 
Nature takes notes of all these matters, and with- 
holds from this branch of her children the charm 
of "happiness." They lie down in weariness, 
and they rise up in listless indifference. 

One thing there is, existing in the fashionable 
and so-called " genteel " world, that we cannot 
comprehend. We mean the lax system that 
almost universally prevails in evening dress. 
Women, young and old, who would be thought 
paragons of modesty during the day, at night 
appear unabashed in a state of semi-nudity. They 
evidently consider themselves, when thus attired, 
irresistibly attractive. They may be pseonies ; 
but they are not violets nor daisies. When we 
see these full-blown giant flowers courting admi- 
ration, we feel sick at heart, and seek a solace in 
those of gentler mien. The " rose-bud " for us, in 
preference to the cabbage rose : — 

" Some maidens coy, with anxious care conceal 

The snowy breast beneath the envied gauze ; 
But you more freely every charm reveal, 

Scorning to be restrained by modest laws. 
Thanks for your kindness, gentle fair ; but learn 

That when we see the rose o'erblown in you, 
We gaze not — but with sweet attraction turn 

To yonder rose, HALF-open to the view." 

Our fashionable ladies will, in defiance of the 
poet, tell us that this is quite a matter of opinion, 
and that we are over-fastidious. We may be 
" singular," perhaps ; but we do love common 
modesty. Nor can we see any just reason why 
women should not " assume a virtue if they have 
it not." It were a harmless deceit, and readily 

* We have a perfect hatred for the word " gen- 
teel" — so lamentably is it prostituted in its ac- 
cepted use ! — Ed. K. J. 



Oh ! that we could inoculate all such dwellers 
in our great city — and all like them in other great 
cities — with a love of nature ! that we could 
entice them to rise betimes and walk into the 
fields and hedge-rows, examining '* with their own 
eyes " those myriads of " things having life," at 
the sight of which they now shriek and faint 
away ! This would be a triumph indeed over 
prejudice ; and we think even Mr. John Gray, of 
Glasgow, would not venture, in print, to find fault 
with "strolling dabblers" such as these. 

All we wish is, that our elite would give him 
" an opportunity " to write upon the subject. We 
will be their champion gladly ; and defend them 
nobly against the onslaught of the whole exclusive 



On She came, 
Led by her Heavenly Maker. 


Accuse not Nature ; she hath done her part : 
Do thou but thine. 

The Angel Raphael. 

Far be it from us, even in the mist of thought, 
to wound the feelings of any one member of that 
sex whom we profess to adore, and collectively do 
worship ! With the name of Woman, we " natu- 
rally" associate all that is lovely and amiable.* 
Let this confession of ours absolve us from the 
consequences of what we are now about to touch 
upon, and that as lightly as may be — the innate 
propensity of the fair sex to " deform " the 
natural beauty of their elegant persons. 

No one will attempt to deny that our mother 
Eve was of excellent form, exquisitely symme- 
trical. Taking her, then, as the standard, let us 
keep as near to our " original " as may be. 
Nature herself pleads hard for this. Her daughters 
strive morning, noon, and night, to destroy their 
symmetry ; and yet with all their wilfulness, they 
positively cannot altogether succeed ! Is not this 
cause sufficient why their hearts should relent, 
and listen for a moment to reason ? We think it 
is. Such forbearance in dame Nature shows the 
tender love she bears to her offspring. She can- 
not forget that 

" The hand which formed them is divine j" 

and this quite accounts for her long-suffering. 
Let her ladyship prevail, gentle readers, even at 
the eleventh hour. But to the point. 

We spoke in our last of the use and abuse of 
Stays ; and proved that Fashion would never 
consent to abandon them. This, no doubt, is a 

* We quite agree with Lord Byron who, whilst 
speaking of the fair sex, remarks: — "There is 
something to me very softening in the presence 
of Woman ; some strange influence, even if one is 
not in love with them. I always feel in better 
humor with myself, and everything else, if there 
be a woman within ken." — Well said, Lord Byron ! 
There is a delightful spell cast over us when we 
are so favored. It is our " privilege," and we 
will enjoy it. — Ed. K. J. 

fact. But as we do not write for the fashionables, 
let us try and reason with the " select few ; " 
leaving " the many " to kill themselves, and 
deform their posterity to the last generation. They 
ever have done — ever will do it. 

We are told by the mothers of families, that 
young persons can very well indeed dispense with 
stays ; and that none but married women have 
any necessity for them. We believe it, because 
it is a reasonable belief. Yet will not these young 
people believe it. No! an idea prevails that 
the female figure cannot be preserved, or shown to 
advantage, without some ligature around the 
person. Hence the many fatal cases of con- 
sumption to which we have before alluded. 

A few days since, the collected opinions of our 
most eminent medical practitioners on this subject, 
in the form of a very readable pamphlet, came 
into our possession. What shall we say about it ? 
What can we say — excepting that the general use of 
stays, as hitherto worn, is therein proved to be 
siiicidal; dealing out destruction, in a host of cases, 
both to mother and child ! " How then shall 
the female figure be preserved in its natural 
purity of form ? " ask our fair readers. Listen ! 

Others, beside the faculty, have studied this 
matter, and have provided against the evil ; so that 
" shape preservers " may still be worn, and no sad 
consequences result therefrom. An invention is 
now before the public that is exciting quite a sen- 
sation. We allude to the "Resilient Bodice" of 
the Mesdames Maitland, 54, Connaught Terrace. 
We were induced to pay a visit to their establish- 
ment, in consequence of an advertisement they sent 
for insertion in our Journal. The nature of the 
announcement made a forcible impression upon us ; 
so forcible, that it caused us to hold a long con- 
versation with Mrs. Maitland, who received us 
very kindly — entering into our humor, and giving 
us a very satisfactory solution of every difficulty 
we raised. 

We came away, convinced, not only that the 
invention is a valuable one, but that it is incum- 
bent upon all who would enjoy health whilst pre- 
serving the beauty of their person, to adopt this 
bodice. It is firm, but perfectly elastic, and fits 
close to the body ; moreover it quite prevents any 
undue pressure on the ribs and liver. The prin- 
ciple of the invention, illustrated by wood en- 
gravings, being fully detailed in our advertisement 
columns, we need here merely direct attention to 
it. The use of stays, or the necessity for their 
use, is now quite superseded. 

It redounds greatly to the credit of the medical 
profession, that they have been unanimous in 
their recommendation of the " Resilient Bodice." 
Whilst its adoption saves the life of many a patient, 
it will at the same time deprive them of many a 
fee. " Honor to whom honor, praise to whom praise 
is due ! " 


Love one human being purely and warmly, and 
you will, in degree, love all. The heart in this 
Heaven, like the wandering sun, sees nothing, from 
the dewdrop to the ocean, but a mirror which it 
warms and fills. — Jean Paul. 






O, hateful Error, — Melancholy's child ! 

Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 

The things that are n ot? Shakspeare. 

'Twixt truth and error, there's this difference known, 
Error is fruitful— truth is only ONE. 

He rrick . 

OME two years since, there was 
a grand newspaper controversy 
about the habits of this bird, 
and it was one in which we per- 
sonally took a part. We have, 
as our readers will have per- 
ceived, been requested more than 
once, to give the pith of the matter in our 
columns. We preferred waiting until the 
cuckoo was again about to visit us, and now 
we perforin our promise. We long once 
more to hear this " messenger of spring." 

The grand dispute — a very silly one, by- 
the-bye — was whether, on certain occasions, 
the cuckoo assisted in feeding her young or 
not ? The vast correspondence published on 
this subject, abundantly proves the truth of 
the fact that the cuckoo does assist, and 
also (another equally ridiculously disputed 
point) that the female cuckoo does utter 
the well-known cry of "cuckoo! cuckoo!" 
The old, musty and well-thumbed books of 
former days, are taken down and referred to 
by the dissentients, as their " authority ; " 
but close observers of modern times, and 
students of nature, who live in the fields, 
have verified, as " facts," what, up to a certain 
date, was a matter of surmise only. These 
documents have appeared in the Gardeners 1 
Chronicle, the Gardeners' 1 Journal, and 
other popular papers. To reprint them all, 
would fill more than a whole number of our 
Journal. Charles Waterton, the old 
veteran, has quite set at rest the silly remark 
about the hedge-sparrow's nest not being seen 
in July. 

We have ourself seen newly-built nests in 
August, and had young hedge-sparrows in 
our own garden at the end of that same 
month. Many others testify to the same 
fact. Indeed, it were idle to argue the point. 
The controversy was provoked by a Mr. 
Henry Doubleday, of Epping, who, it would 
appear, entertained some personal pique 
against Mr. J. Mcintosh, a naturalist of 
note, residing at Dorchester. This last 
gentleman, a writer in the Gardeners' Chro- 
nicle, the Naturalist, the late Mr, Loudon's 
Magazine of Natural History, etc., etc., pro- 
voked Mr. Doubleday's ire, by the following 
remarks on the cuckoo, which appeared in 
the Naturalist, and which were commented 
on in terms of high praise by the Gardeners' 1 
Chronicle : — 

It is generally supposed by ornithologists that 
the " cuckoo " does not feed its young ; that 
having deposited its egg in the nest of the hedge 
accentor, or some other small bird, it leaves it 
to the care of a foster-mother. On this subject I 
am in possession of proofs to overthrow this long- 
established belief. In the summer of 1850, in 
the month of July, a hedge accentor constructed 
its nest in a holly hedge ; about two feet from 
the ground, and about fourteen from an adjoin- 
ing garden wall. Immediately on its being 
finished, and before the owner of it had time to 
deposit her second egg, a cuckoo, which had for 
some days past been watching with anxious eye 
the operations of the accentor, took the oppor- 
tunity, and during the temporary absence of the 
said hedge accentor, quietly deposited in the 
nest her egg, which occupied but a few minutes. 
She then immediately took her departure, (utter- 
ing at the same time her well-known cry of 
"cuckoo, cuckoo," in rapid succession) to a neigh- 
boring elm tree. Of this egg, the hedge accen- 
tor took no notice ; but deposited her four eggs, 
and commenced incubation. In due time, this 
important office was completed ; and three hedge 
accentors and the cuckoo were brought to life (or 
rather light),the fourth egg of the accentor proving 
addled. In the course of three days, the young- 
accentors, by some means (but by what means I 
could not ascertain) took their departure ; as did 
also their mother, whom I never saw again, nor any 
remains of the young. The addled egg, however, 
I found on the ground immediately beneath the 
nest. This departure took place in the evening, 
or early in the morning. On the fourth day, 
seeing the old cuckoo frequently fluttering about 
the hedge which contained the hedge accentor's 
nest and the young cuckoo, I was induced to 
watch her proceedings with some little care and 
attention. Taking my stand at no great dis- 
tance from the nest under the wall alluded to, in 
a few minutes the old cuckoo flew over the wall 
to the nest. I immediately applied a pocket 
telescope to my eye, and very distinctly saw the 
old bird feed its young. This operation I 
watched for some time, every day ; creeping nearer 
and nearer, till I could see distinctly the actual 
feeding of the young without the aid of telescope 
or spectacles. I now became anxious to know 
whence the bird procured its food, (this, I ima- 
gined, from its frequent visits to the nest, was at 
no great distance,) and of what description it 
was. Knowing the cuckoo to he particularly 
fond of caterpillars, I walked into the garden, 
where there were some gooseberry bushes covered 
with caterpillars of Abraxas grossulariata. 
Thither I bent my steps, and saw the cuckoo 
engaged in clearing the bushes of the caterpillars. 
When she had what she considered sufficient for 
that meal, off she flew in a direct line over the 
wall ; and, as if she had been shot, dropped on 
the other side, where the hedge in question was. 
In this manner the old bird continued to feed her 
young as long as a caterpillar remained on the 
bushes. When they were finished, she proceeded 
to a field near in quest of food ; and through her 
diligence, her progeny got as fat as a London 
Alderman. This proves further to me that the 
cuckoo lays but one egg ; at least this one could 
have laid no more ; yet I never observed her 

Vol. III.— 11. 




Bitting on the young in the nest, as other birds 
do. — J. McIxtosh. 

The appearance of these interesting facts 
in print, and their eager reception by natu- 
ralists, seem to have awakened Mr. Double- 
day's dormant passions. In language most 
foul, he thus rashly replied to the reviewer — 
at once exposing his own ignorance, and his 
anything but praiseworthy motives: — 

The Cuckoo. — To the Editor of the Gardeners' 
Chronicle. — Sir, in a review of the Naturalist 
in your last number, it is stated, on the authority 
of a writer in that periodical, that the cuckoo 
does feel attachment to its young, etc. This 
statement, in such a widely-circulated journal as 
the Gardeners' Chronicle, may mislead many 
persons accustomed to place implicit confidence 
in its contents. As it appears to confirm asser- 
tions altogether incorrect, I will proceed to notice 
the writer's remarks. He says " In the month 
of July, a hedge accentor constructed its nest in 
a holly hedge." This bird is one of ofir earliest 
breeders, and I much doubt if ever a recent nest 
was seen in the month of July. " Immediately 
on its being finished, and before the owner had 
time to deposit her second egg, a cuckoo de- 
posited in the nest her egg, which occupied but 
a few minutes ; and immediately took her depar- 
ture, uttering at the same time her well-known 
cry of ' cuckoo, cuckoo,' in rapid succession." 
Nearly all the old cuckoos leave this country at 
the end of June and beginning of July. And 
the female never utters the cry of " Cuckoo," her 
only note being a harsh chatter. The writer 
then goes on to state that the young were fed by 
the female cuckoo, upon the larvae of Abraxas 
grossulariata, taken from gooseberry bushes. 
Now it so happens that in July not a larva 
of this moth can be found, all having assumed the 
winged state. The larva, which strips the goose- 
berry bushes of their leaves, belongs to one of 
the saw-flies (Nematus ribesii). In conclusion, 
I positively state that the cuckoo never feeds its 
own young ; that the female never utters the cry 
of '*' Cuckoo ;" and that an old cuckoo is never 
seen in this country at the end of July, at which 
time, according to the writer's account, the young 
cuckoo was in the nest. — Hexry Doubleday, 

Mr. Mcintosh's reply to this remarkable 
document, is just what might have been ex- 
pected from so straightforward a man and 
lover of truth. It has been copied into most 
of the English and American Journals : 

The Cuckoo. — Sir, at page 454 of the 
Gardeners' Chronicle appear some remarks by 
Mr. Doubleday, of Epping, denying the truth of 
an article which I contributed to the Naturalist. 
This denial of Mr. Doubleday, I should have 
treated with indifference, if Tuesday's post had 
not brought me half a dozen letters, and three 
Gardeners' Chronicles, from naturalists whose 
names I am not at liberty to use, (one of whom, 
by-the-bye, forgot to attach his name,) which I 
here beg to^ acknowledge, expressing their opinion 
of the subject published by me in the Natu- 
ralist "as quite correct;" and urging that 

truth demanded should reply. This I now do, 
and repeat that the cuckoo in the case in ques- 
tion did feed its own young with the greatest 
care and attention ; and that for some time in 
the month of July, with the caterpillars of 
Abraxas grossulariata. And that it cried 
" Cuckoo, cuckoo ! " I again assert. That the 
female cuckoo does cry " Cuckoo, cuckoo ! " is a 
fact well known to myself and others. Therefore, 
I would advise Mr. D. to live in the country for a 
year or 60, and watch the habits of this bird, 
which he most assuredly has never done. If 
he is in possession of the Mag. of Nat. Hist., 
consisting of nine volumes, he will find it re- 
corded, long before March, 1851, that the female 
cuckoo does cry " Cuckoo, cuckoo ! " Still 
further, I have shot them " cuckoo, cuckooing," 
even so late as the 8th of August ; right and 
left, male and female. If you have patience to 
wait, and will read the Naturalist, I shall 
(d. v.) record some more facts from personal 
observations on this bird, not less at variance 
with received opinion ; and this may be because 
I have had more and ampler opportunities of 
studying such matters than some other persons. 
Again, with respect to the doubts expressed of 
a recent hedge-sparrow's nest being met with 
in July, I have only to repeat what I have seen. 
The hedge-sparrow, or hedge accentor's nest, 
may be found from March to August, with fresh- 
laid eggs and with young. I have now a nest 
before me, taken on the 22nd of this month of 
July, (yesterday,) with two new-laid eggs, from 
a hedge on an open clown. I have also in my 
possession fresh-laid eggs of this bird, taken 
from a nest on the 7th of August, 1850 ! The 
doubts and positive statements respecting the 
caterpillars of Abraxas grossulariata, I am also 
compelled to dispose of in the same way ; that 
is, they are equally at variance with what I 
have seen. I have, at this moment, upwards of 
thirty caterpillars on a gooseberry bush in my 
garden, and ten chrysales in a box, and I am 
writing on the 23rd of July. I have frequently 
taken and had caterpillars of Abraxas gros- 
sulariata in the latter end of August, and be- 
ginning of September. I have also had flies 
from the larvae of Nematus ribesii, and I know 
the difference between the two insects as well 
as I know the difference between a cabbage and 
a turnip. It is evident that Mr. Doubleday 
has yet very much to learn respecting the natu- 
ral history and habits of birds and insects. 
Having made these statements and repeated 
these facts, I regard it as a matter of great 
| indifference as to what Mr. Doubleday may 
! think or say of them. My main object will be 
answered, if I can gain a hearing from the pub- 
'■ lie, for that which I have not read only, but 
seen and handled. I shall only add, that a more 
I uncourteous, ungentleman-like criticism has 
I never before been made upon any writings of 
i mine. For this, however, I care but little, com- 
j ing from the quarter it does. — J. McIntosh, 
: Charminster, Dorset. 

At this time, July 1851, we were also 
\ writing in the Gardeners' Chronicle ; and feel- 
i ing naturally astonished at Mr. Doubleday's 
, temerity, we addressed the Editor as follows ; 



The Cuckoo. — Sir, your correspondent, Mr. 
Henry Doubleday, has, it appears, read some 
remarks in the Naturalist (reviewed in your 
paper of the 12th inst.,) about the cuckoo. I 
too, in consequence of Mr. Doubleday's obser- 
vations, have had the curiosity to read the article 
he refers to, and give full credence to its truth. 
Indeed, I have perused it with much interest. I 
must confess my surprise — a surprise which will 
be shared in common with most of your other 
readers — why your correspondent should, in a 
paper bearing so high a character as the Garden- 
ers' Chronicle — and in such unmeasured terms 
too ! — fall foul of a writer who, whilst giving his 
name and address, very modestly relates of this 
and another bird, no more than he is prepared to 
verify. Mr. Doubleday asserts, or to use his own 
strange language, u positively states," that the 
cuckoo " never feeds its own young!" In 
making this positive, but rash and erroneous 
assertion, he has greatly exceeded the bounds 
both of prudence and of courtesy ; for it is a fact, 
patent to most ornitbologists, that the cuckoo has 
been seen in the act of assisting in feeding her off- 
spring — I say assisting, because, where there is no 
necessity for her aid in this matter, she never inter- 
feres. The hedge sparrow and the robin* are 
the two principal birds delegated to officiate on 
these occasions. They are wisely selected by the 
cuckoo to be the custodians of her eggs, inasmuch 
as they are best adapted, from the nature of the 
food they eat, for the task of feeding her young, 
when hatched. A few years since the sight of a 
redbreast feeding a young cuckoo, assisted by 
the old cuckoo, was witnessed by a most truthful 
and worthy ornithologist, a friend of mine, 
now no more. His animated countenance 
is even now before me, whilst relating mi- 
nutely, and with intense interest, the ' singular 
and ridiculous disparity observable between the 
natural and the putative parent. The description 
he gave me of their joint occupation in cramming 
the lubberly, ill-favored young cuckoo, was too 
vivid for me easily to forget it. The manner of 
the relation, too, apart from my friend's known 
veracity, carried with it the most perfect con- 
viction of its truth. Nor is this by any means a 
solitary instance of the (latent) natural affection 
of the cuckoo, implanted by nature, and called 
forth under peculiar circumstances ; for, let me 
add, the physical strength of small birds is, oc- 
casionally, totally inadequate to the heavy duties 
of filling the maw of so voracious a gourmand as 
a young cuckoo. Like " Oliver Twist," of 
workhouse notoriety, his constant cry is, " More ! 
more ! ! " and greedily impatient is he till he gets 
it. I would remark, in conclusion, that it is as 
unfair as it is unwise for your correspondent to 
try to put clown so brusquely, by empty assertion, 

* The nest of the robin, I would observe, is 
sometimes built in situations quite as accessible as 
tempting to the cuckoo. It has been so in my 
own garden ; and two years since, early in the 
morning, I observed a cuckoo very busily watch- 
ing the movements of a robin, then about to sit. 
My avocations, however, at that time — for I was 
constantly away from home — prevented my wit- 
nessing what I have since imagined might have 
taken place. 

what is advanced upon the mo3t respectable au- 
thority. It is the direct way of preventing those 
useful additions to our knowledge, which it should 
be our endeavor as much as it is our interest, 
always to encourage. In so saying, I speak but 
the sentiments of all true lovers of nature. — 
William Kidd, Hammersmith. 

This letter gave rise to many others on the 
same side ; and the habits of the cuckoo are 
now much better known than they were. It 
would be ungenerous in us to dwell on poor 
Mr. Doubleday's defeat, especially after the 
rough treatment he received from all quarters. 
Dr. Morris' final letter, containing the grand 
summing up, finished him entirely. He had 
two aiders and abettors, at starting ; but they 
skulked off the moment they smelt powder, 
and saw the flash in the pan. The last shot 
wae fired in the Gardeners' Journal,, Nov. 29, 
1851. The Editor wrote as follows : — 

" We are incidentally reminded of the recent 
discussions on the habits of the cuckoo, which 
have elicited so much public attention. The 
natural history of the bird appears now to be 
tolerably well understood. Indeed, those 
who have hitherto been so vociferous in their 
abuse of it, do seem ashamed, and are now 
completely silenced. Their fond and ridicu- 
lous theories are for ever demolished. It 
will be remembered that the first attempt 
to clear up all mystery in connexion with the 
cuckoo, originated with Mr. Kidd, the natu- 
ralist, who has been unceasing in his endea- 
vors to bring the truth to light. In these 
he has been ably seconded by a host of 
practical and experimental philosophers ; nor 
have the columns of the Gardeners' Journal 
been found wanting in the discussion ; much 
new and very valuable matter having therein 
appeared, quite apropos to the inquiry. In 
his popular and interesting ' Essays on 
Instinct and Reason' (see Gardeners' 1 Chro- 
nicle, Nov. 15,) Mr. Kidd remarks, in con- 
nexion with this subject ; — 

I have not failed to vindicate the ways of 
Nature on every occasion where her aid is re- 
quired ; and it is pleasing to know that I have 
been the means, indirectly, of most satisfactorily 
establishing the fact of the cuckoo on certain oc- 
casions feeding her own young. This was, until 
lately, with some few persons a vexed question. 
I have elicited, also, most abundant and satis- 
factory proofs, from men of reputation, observation, 
and undoubted veracity, that the female does utter 
the well-known cry — "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" and 
that the parent birds do linger with us until after 
July, to give safe conduct to such of their offspring 
as may have been hatched so late, or even later 
in the season. And why not ? 

We must not wonder, but rejoice, that dame 
Nature takes such singular care of her children, 
and protects them from their earliest infancy in all 
times of peril and danger. If they offend against 
her admonitions, as we u reasonable " folk do too 
often, against our better knowledge — then they, 

M 2 



like ourselves, must of course take the conse- 
quences There is but one law in these matters, 
and woe be to him who transgresses it ! 

" We cannot but imagine that the * three 
notable individuals' who unwisely provoked 
this controversy, and who so ostentatiously 
glorified each other in the belief that ' all 
knowledge centred in themselves alone,' 
are, ere now, satisfied of their ■ mistake.' 
At all events, the public are gainers by 
their vanity ; and so far, so good." 


( Continued from page 70, Vol. II) 

What various wonders may observers see 

In a small insect— the sagacious bee ! 

Mark how the little untaught builders square 

Their rooms, and in the dark their lodgings rear. 

Nature's mechanics, they unwearied strive, 

And fill with curious labyrinths the hive. 

See what bright strokes of architecture shine 

Through the whole frame— what beauty, what design ! 

Each odoriferous cell and waxen tower — 

The yellow pillage of the rifled flower — 

Has twice three sides, the only figure fit 

To which the laborers may their stores commit, 

Without the loss of matter or of room, 

In all the wondrous structures of the comb. 

We are living in an age of discovery— an 
age in which new principles are fast taking 
the place of the old. Improvements in 
science and art are daily bursting in upon 
us from all quarters of the habitable globe ; 
and we can see no good reason why the de- 
structive and cruel system of bee-murder 
should not be superseded by one of humanity, 
when we can advance so much in £. s. d. in 
its favor, to say nothing of the increased in- 
terest which must of necessity follow in 
preserving the lives of those — 

Who've spent their summer hours, 

Whate'er their heat, 

That man might eat 

The honey from their flowers. 

The management of bees in the bee-hive 
we now recommend, is so simple and safe, 
as well as pleasing to the eye of the obser- 
ver, that it is almost superfluous to offer any 
remarks respecting the treatment of bees in 
them ; but whatever kind of hive is selected, 
it should be stocked with an early swarm, 
which can be procured of any cottage bee- 
keeper for about ten shillings. Particular 
care must be taken that the hive is clean and 
dry ; let no sticks be put in the inside of 
the hive for the bees to build their combs 
on, they are very troublesome to them — 

Who at the roof begin their golden work, 
And build without foundation. 

We will now suppose a fine swarm to be 
safely lodged within the hive, which we 
will call the " Pavilion of Nature," and in 
which the queen deposits her eggs ; the 

young are brought forth in about twenty- 
one days from the time of swarming, but the 
development proceeds more slowly in un- 
favorable, cold seasons. This Pavilion of 
Nature must never be disturbed, except to 
clean the floor-board in the autumn and 
spring. As soon as the thermometer stands 
at 80 degrees (for all hives should be pro- 
vided with a thermometer), a glass or other 
surplus hive may be given them on the top 
of the pavilion, which should be prepared 
with a piece of clean comb, melted by the 
fire or over a candle, just sufficient to make 
small particles adhere to the glass when 
pressed against it — thus laying the foundation 
for a structure of new combs ; this will be 
found of great assistance to the bees, and 
will prevent any irregularity in their con- 
struction. A woollen case should be made 
for the glass hive, and put over to exclude 
the light and keep them warm until the bees 
have commenced building combs ; when, if 
the thermometer in the pavilion reaches 90 
deg., a cover of a thinner texture will better 
answer the purpose. The glass hives manu 
factured by Apsley Pellatt and Co., of Lon- 
don, are admirably adapted for the purpose, 
they being made with a hole in the top for 
ventilation, over which must be fixed a piece 
of gauze — thus the hot air will escape, and 
keep the hive at a proper temperature ; for 
bees will not work well while they are kept 
too hot. 

Should summer signs auspicious ride, 
And tubes unfailing pour the balmy tide, 
A full rich harvest, bee-herds, may ye claim 
From the blythe tenants of your crystalled frame. 
But long ere Virgo weaves the robe of sleet, 
Or binds the hoar-frost sandals round her feet, 
Close sealed and sacred leave your toil-worn hosts, 
The last kind dole their waning season boasts ; 
Lest, cooped within their walls, the tenants prey 
On hoards reserved to cheer stern winter's day. 

Glass surplus hives should be worked on 
the top of the Pavilion of Nature, after being 
prepared as above ; for if they are given 
without preparation, the bees will commence 
building their combs upwards, which being 
unnatural to them, is a great waste of time, 
and must be carefully avoided in the working 
season, which in this country is of short 
duration. It is to the interest of the apiarian 
to assist his bees as much as he can — have 
everything in readiness — never have to look 
for anything just at the time it is wanted. 
All surplus hives should be kept in order ; 
and when the bees are in full work, particular 
care must be taken to keep every part of 
glass covered, so as effectually to exclude 
every particle of light, which is very annoy- 
ing to the bees, and checks their progress ; 
and, in order to prevent the necessity of 
swarming, let ventilation receive due share 
of attention, for it is — 



Th' excessive rise of temperature alone, 
That drives the royal insect from her throne, 
To some more genial region of the state, 
Where snow-white cells accommodate. 
But, as the heat declines, there may be seen 
Vast numbers congregated round their queen, 
And clinging round the combs as if half dead ; 
Hence we infer — how honey bees are bred. 

" Encourage your bees," says Thomas 
Nutt, " accomodate them, support them, and, 
by all means, preserve them ; and, when 
seasons are favorable, they will richly re- 
ward you for your attention to them." The 
hive should never be fixed to the floor-board 
with mortar or anything of the kind ; the 
bees have a much better way of doing it 
themselves ; but watch and destroy the wax 
moth, which may be seen hovering about 
the entrance on a fine summer's evening. 
Whatever kiud of hive is used, it should be 
well protected from the weather, but not 
painted — paint stops the pores in the hives 
and renders them unfit for the purpose. 

The expense of the Temple Bee -hives 
being a bar to their coming into general use 
amongst cottagers, we would advise those of 
this class who make their own straw hives, 
to make the top of the pavilion with wood. 
Bore two or three holes in it,with a " centre- 
bit," one inch in diameter, for the purpose of 
working glass or other surplus hives, which 
can be protected by another straw hive 
being used as a cover to the surplus hives 
thus placed upon the top. There is no 
doubt of the preference to be given to 
wooden boxes, both in point of durability 
and in affording greater convenience for the 
bees ; for a square shape is much better 
adapted for the economical placing of the 
combs than any other. 

Our own experience teaches us, that a first 
swarm build their combs in a right line from 
front to back ; so that when all is completed, 
the apiarian, on looking in at the window at 
the back of the pavilion, may see through, 
between the combs, to the entrance. Second 
swarms, which are called " casts," work their 
combs irregular, and should never be pur- 
chased to stock a hive ; but two casts united 
will often make a good stock. We have 
often been asked how we manage to preserve 
such a large family of bees in one hive, when 
we do not allow them to swarm, and never 
destroy them ? To this we reply, that their 
numbers are reduced so much in the autumn 
by the destruction of the drones, and the 
unavoidable deaths they meet with by the 
thousands of accidents while in search of 
honey, that a much less space is required for 
them in winter than in summer. 

A colony of bees may be comppred to a 
town which is always well peopled, though 
during the life of man many changes take 
place ; some are removed by old age, others 
from other natural causes, whose places are 

filled by the young progeny who are daily 
coming forth. If we examine the wings of 
the working bee, we find them of a very 
delicate nature, and not calculated to " wea- 
ther the storm " through a long life of 
years ; for the bee (unlike the bird) never 
has new wings ; and when the wings of the 
bee are worn out, it is cast from the hive by 
the other bees as a useless " member of 
society." When a stock is destroyed, it 
invariably contains some young brood in the 
combs ; and though the life of the working 
bee has been considered by some to be from 
seven to ten years, I fully concur with Dr. 
Bevan, when he says, M it is more than pro- 
bable that the life of the working bee does 
not exceed six or seven months." 

It is important that the front of the hive 
should be shaded from the sun during winter; 
the entrance so contracted as to allow only 
one or two bees to come out at one time ; 
and when snow is on the ground, the entrance 
must be entirely closed with a piece of wire- 
gauze or perforated zinc, so that no bees 
can escape, but fresh air freely admitted into 
the hive. — W. J. Pettitt, East Cliff, Dover. 



I saw one leaf upon a tree remaining, 

Which by a feeble trembling tenure hung ; 
The cold chill winds of winter were complaining, 
And heaps of dead leaves, wet with constantraining, 
Were here and there in fitful eddies flung. 

Still, in the piercing blast, this lone leaf quivered, 
As though each gust would force it from its hold ; 
Or, as it dying were, and feebly shivered 
Ere to the dull cold grasp of Earth delivered, 
And with its dead and rotting brethren rolled. 

From the bleak North a fiercer blast came sweeping, 
And from its tottering hold the leaf was hurled 

Down to the ground ; the bitter rain seemed 
weeping — 

In its sad icy tears the dead leaves steeping — 
While in the rushing wind they madly whirled. 

And then it seemed the only hope had parted, 
While desolation did supremely reign ; 

'Twas like the last trust of the broken-hearted ; 

Yet was a consolation then imparted 

Which eased my spirit of a weight of pain : — 

For, as my heart was thus so sadly viewing 
The dying leaf, and seeing but its tomb, 

I thought upon the coming spring, renewing 

All that seemed desolate, and for dead leaves 

The laughing Earth with flowers of gayest bloom. 


Tis thus we should for ever look at sorrow — 
But as a casting our dead leaves away 

To give place to a brighter bloom to-morrow : 

And from the fresh'ning face of Nature borrow, 
All joyous emblems — a perpetual May. 

From Household Words. 




A few days will most probably see this 
welcome bird of Spring amongst us again. 
Whilst we patiently wait her well-remem- 
bered song (for, be it remembered, both the 
female and the male sing), let us hear what 
Gilbert White says of her habits. 

" The cuckoo never builds a nest for her- 
self, but drops her eggs into the habitation 
of another, to whom it confides the care of 
bringing forth its progeny. This kindness it 
was formerly, and in many places, is believed, 
the young cuckoo repays by devouring its 
fostering mother. But this certainly is an 
error. The disappearance of the foster- 
nestlings from the nest in which a cuckoo is 
hatched, is more satisfactorily accounted for 
by the observations of the late Dr. Jenner, 
to whom the world was indebted for the 
inestimable discovery of vaccination. " On 
the 18th June, 1787," says he, " I examined 
the nest of a hedge-sparrow (accentor modu- 
laris), which then contained a cuckoo and 
three hedge-sparrow's eggs. On examining 
it the day following, the bird had hatched ; 
but the nest then contained only a young 
cuckoo and one hedge-sparrow. The nest 
wais placed so near the extremity of a hedge, 
that I could distinctly see what was going 
forward in it ; and, to my great astonishment, 
I saw the young cuckoo, though so lately 
hatched, in the act of turning out the young 
hedge sparrow. 

" The mode of accomplishing this was very 
curious. The little animal, with the assist- 
ance of its rump and wings, contrived to get 
the bird upon its back ; and making a lodge- 
ment for its burthen by elevating its elbows, 
clambered backwards with it up the side of 
the nest, till it reached the top, where, resting 
for a moment, it threw off its load with a 
jerk, and quite disengaged it from the nest. 
It remained in this situation for a short time, 
feeling about with the extremities of its wings, 
as if to be convinced whether the business 
was properly executed, and then dropped into 
the nest again. With these, the extremities 
of its wings, I have often seen it examine, as 
it were, an egg and nestling before it began its 
operations ; and the nice sensibilities which 
these parts seem to possess, seemed suffici- 
ently to compensate the want of sight,which, 
as yet, it was destitute of. I afterwards put 
in an egg ; and this, by a similar process, 
was conveyed to the edge of the nest, and 
thrown out. 

" These experiments I have since repeated 
several times, in different nests, and have 
always found the young cuckoo disposed to 
act in the same manner. In climbing up the 
nest, it sometimes drops its burthen, and thus 
is foiled in its endeavors ; but, after a little 
respite, the work is resumed, and goes on 

almost incessantly till it is effected. The 
singularity of its shape is well adapted to 
these purposes ; for, different from other 
newly-hatched birds, its back, from the 
shoulders downwards, is very broad, with a 
considerable depression in the middle. This 
depression seems formed by nature with the 
design of giving a more secure lodgment to 
the egg of the hedge-sparrow, or its young 
one, when the young cuckoo is employed in 
removing either of them from the nest. 
When it is about twelve days old, this cavity 
is filled up, and then the back assumes the 
shape of nestling birds in general. 

" It sometimes happens (which dis- 
proves Pliny's statement), that two cuckoo's 
eggs are deposited in the same nest ; and 
then the young produced from one of them 
must inevitably perish. Two cuckoos and 
one hedge-sparrow were hatched in the 
same nest, and one hedge-sparrow's egg 
remained unhatched. In a few hours after- 
wards, a contest began between the cuckoos 
for the possession of the nest, which con- 
tinued undetermined until the next after- 
noon ; when one of them, which was some- 
what superior in size, turned out the other, 
together w r ith the young hedge-sparrow and 
the unhatched egg. The combatants alter- 
nately appeared to have the advantage, as 
each carried the other several times to the 
top of the nest, and than sank down again, 
oppressed by the weight of the burthen ; till 
at length, after various efforts, the strongest 
prevailed ; and was afterwards brought up by 
the hedge sparrow." — Gilbert White. 



I saw thee smile, in the bloom of health ; 

I kiss'd thy cheek as I bless'd thee : 
That smile was sweet, ere the cares of wealth, 

Or the sorrows of life oppress'd thee. 

Joy brightly beam'd on thy pretty face, 
And thy pale blue eye shone clearly ; 

Smiles left thy lip with a winning grace, 
Assured that we all lov'd thee dearly. 

Thou wert too fair for this heartless world ; 

Too pure to encounter its anguish, — 
And I trembled lest thou should'st be hurl'd 

In sorrow's wild vortex to languish. 

I saw thee again, — how calm thy rest ! 

I wept ! 'twas madness to mourn thee ; 
Thy dear little spirit had join'd the blest, 

In Heaven, where angels had borne thee. 

And I saw thee laid in thy little grave, — 

Did I wish to recall thee ? — Never ! 
Safe thou had'st pass'd over Life's troubled 






{Continued from Page 103.) 

Here I am again, Mr. Editor, well and jolly ! 
The frost, whilst I write, is finally departing ; and 
all nature is preparing to don the new livery of 
spring. I tell you this, because I know you re- 
joice in everything of the kind. I see, by your 
last, that we are closely Avatched by Mr. John 
Gray, of Glasgow. He calls us " strolling 
dabblers" — because we record the " curious facts" 
we have met with in our rambles ! Well ; as I'm 
a dog ! I nev-er ! Do not heed Mr. Gray, sir. We 
are of another school, and love all the world to 
share in our pleasures and delights. Mais reven- 
ons a nos moutons ; as Bombyx Atlas !!my master, 
says when he sits down to a fine haunch of mutton. 

I told you in my last, all about that fearful storm. 
I shall never forget it. And now, knowing you 
will sympathise with the horrible feelings of an 
honest old Dog, within an inch of being swallowed 
up — and congratulate him, even now, on his lucky 
escape from the jaw of the fiend, I cannot resist the 
temptation to give you an account of what occurred 
to myself some years ago. Nobody can do it half 
so feelingly, Mr. Editor; and if you had been in my 
situation, you would think so, too. 

I must first say, the house my old master then 
occupied was the same as that alluded to in Num- 
ber V. of my Memoirs, — on the road to Chailly. It 
was a large old-fashioned house, with (fortunately 
for me) an outside staircase behind the house, 
which led into a covered balcony. At one end of 
it, was the dormitory of the German servant ; and 
at the other, a door communicating with the ex- 
treme part of the house. This balcony was closed 
every night by glass windows, opening a la Fran- 
caise ; and a door at the top of the staircase, which 
the German never failed to lock when he passed 
to his room. The cellar was in front of the house ; 
and, as in most old-fashioned Swiss houses, the 
door was outside, and opened into Bombyx's gar- 
den. With these preliminaries I now proceed. 

It was the latter end of January — a bitter cold 
night, the thermometer Fah. twenty-two degrees 
below the freezing point ; with a sharp bise, and 
about six inches snow on the plain (capital wea- 
ther for sledging, of which I shall speak by and 
by). As usual, about eight o'clock, Bombyx went 
out to draw his jug of ale for supper. His young- 
est son held the lantern ; and of course I must go 
to help. The first thing, on getting out of the 
front-door and looking down the avenue, Bombyx 
started, exclaiming — "What can those two re- 
markable green shining spots be ? I never observed 
that before." However, down we went into the 
cellar. I did not at all like the appearance, 
I even fancied I smelt something peculiar. The 
moment the cellar door was opened, I sprang in. 
Luckily, it was a new tap ; and so Bombyx was 
detained rather longer than usual. Upon coming 
out, the mysterious light (which the old master 
said was just like the fiery eyes of some large 
beast,) had disappeared. Still, nobody had any 
particular fancy, at this time of night, to go and 
reconnoitre. A rather unusual hallooing was 
heard, out on the road, about half-an-hour after ; 
but nothing more. 

The very next morning early, Frere Jean, ac- 
companied by half-a-dozen others — each with his 
gun in his hand, were slowly coming up the 
avenue to the house, pointing on the ground as 
they approached. "What's the matter?" says 
Bombyx. " Oh !" replies Jean — " Ce n'est rien 
— C'est seulement que le loup a passe par ici." 
" Is it possible ?" said Bombyx. " Then I saw 
the brute last night about eight o'clock." " Just 
so," 6ays Jean ; — " a little before eight, he was 
seen on ' Mont benon,' and afterwards on the New 
Road ; and we have traced him up to here. Look 
at these foot-prints as straight as a ruler, one 
after the other — that's him ! Onward !" 

We came close up to the house. " Well, this is 
a pretty start !" cries Jean. " I suppose he wanted 
to view Monsieur's 'cava.' Here he has been, 
down the steps, and across the garden." Only 
think, Mr. Editor, the brute must actually have 
passed right down, while myself and Bombyx and 
the young master were in the cellar, Fancy 
how stealthily the animal went by ! We heard 
nothing at all. Well ; having passed through the 
garden, he went up across a large field behind the 
house and into a cross road, by " Bethusy." Here, 
owing to a drift of snow, there was no further 
positive trace of him. He had evidently been shift- 
ing about a good deal, in this quarter. However, 
after a great search, we came to the conclusion 
that he must be concealed at no great distance 
from this spot — more especially, as there were 
several thick hedges, and very bushy copses in 
this neighborhood, which, though denuded of their 
summer foliage, afforded excellent hiding-places. 

" He's certainly not far from here," said Jean, 
"and he'll not come out till dark, unless he's dis- 
turbed ; we'll just go and have a bit of ' dejeune,' 
and return; alors nous lui ferons son affaire" 
" I say, Jean, don't go through the high road," 
said Bombyx. " Come in here, we'll find some 
coffee and toast. If any one should see you, they'll 
be on the scent as soon as yourself, and perhaps 
get the beast first, and claim the reward." 

" Monsieur est trop bon, pourtant c'est bien 
vrai," said Jean. 

Let me just tell you, Mr. Editor, there is a re- 
ward of sixty Swiss francs (£3 15s.) for every 
female wolf, and forty (£2 10s.) for every male, given 
by the government ; also permission to carry the 
beast about from town to town and from house to 
house ; and you would hardly credit the sum thus 
obtained. Should the animal also be remarkably 
fine, it is sometimes purchased for some museum. 
All I know is, that to catch a female wolf is a 
capital thing indeed. 

Well ! it was agreed that, after breakfast, all but 
Jean should quietly go home by different routes, 
to avoid suspicion ; and that he and the German 
should every now and then go about slily and 
reconnoitre if any other party had got the scent. 
In about a quarter of an hour after they had all 
gone, Jean went up to look about ; and after re- 
maining some time, returned. " Well, Jean, what 
news ?" " There are others after him," said Jean. 
" I saw that great ' Grobety' among them, et par- 
bleu c'est unfin Renard. I warrant you he'll not 
miss him if he gets a sight of him." 

" Well ; it's fair for all. The beast will not move 
yet, unless he be disturbed." Presently, up goes the 
German servant and myself; and looking quietly 



over the hedge, I heard him say — " Da ist ! da 
ist !" and he turned as pale as a sheet. I peeped 
through the hedge. Sure enough "Da ist!" said 
I to myself. There are the very two eyes ; and, 
bless me ! what a jaw ! (I saw him making a kind 
of half-savage grin.) I made off as fast as I could, 
followed by the German ; who never expecting 
anything, had come without his gun. Indeed, that 
did not matter much, for I doubt his hitting an 
elephant at three yards' distance. "What is it ?" 
says Jean, " Oh, tafilaine Pete—je Vaifu." Up 
jumps Jean, sneaking along gently, an d followed 
by the German. But when they got to the hedge, 
he was off, and a party running- and hallooing 
down the Chailly road. u What a pack of fools !" 
cried Jean. " It's all over by their stupid noise ; 
the beast will get to Povereaz, and then — good- 
bye ! catch him if you can.'* 

In a couple of hours they came back, " Well ; 
what news ?" cries Jean. H Where did you leave 
the wolf? " Par di! he has got to the middle of 
Bovereaz" by this time, and who is to catch him 
there ?" " Not you !" replies Jean ; w why could 
you not go quietly to work f I could not stop these 
wild donkeys," said Grobety ; "if they had only 
listened to me when first we caught sight of him 
at Bethusy, and had let me fire, I warrant you he 
would not have been at Povereaz. But one of 
these stupids must needs fire, and of course the 
game was up !" " Well, it can't be helped now." 
All went away together. Nothing happened at 
night, and we concluded the wolf really was at 
Povereaz. The truth, however, was, he was 
much nearer than was expected. 

The night following, it was very fine, though 
cold ; and I had made up my mind for a good cat 
hunt. But Carlo, for reasons best known to him- 
self, would not join me, being in one of his sulky 
humors. Well ; all was closed down stairs, and 
the German had given his usual nocturnal salute 
to Bombyx — " Gut nacht, gnadige Herr," and had 
gone into his room. It might have been about 
half-past ten. I was in the field, looking out 
for sport ; when all of a sudden I caught sight of 
(by Jove !) nothing more nor less than the two 
large green eyes'! I was almost bewitched, and 
actually stood quite motionless. Fortunately the 
brute stopped too. I turned one eye towards the 
room. "If I could only reach there," thought 
I," I should be safe. — Happy, fortunate, 
Carlo !" As I was thus soliloquising, the beast 
moved towards me. I immediately set up a howl, 
that could only be equalled by the wolf herself. 
Off I bolted, making a dreadful noise, to attract 
the German's attention ; and most fortunately 
succeeded. Hearing the noise, and knowing it 
was no cat-hunting, he looked out of his window. 
I was just springing into the yard, the brute 
was close upon me ; another minute, and I should 
be dead. .1 reached the bottom of the back stairs, 
and tumbled up more dead than alive ; the German 
whistling to encourage me, and waiting behind 
the door, which he actually banged right in the 
wolfs phiz. So close did the beast follow me ! 
Off goes a double-barrelled gun, out of the Ger- 
man's window. "Er ist tod ; er ist tod !" cried 
he. The report brought Bombyx with a pair of 
pistols, and my brother at his heels. " What's 
the matter, Karl?" "The wolf! the wolf ! he 
nearly caught poor Fino, 'der armer teufel,' 

but I have killed him as dead as mutton." Nobody 
however, felt any inclination to go and verify the 
German's assertion. We all thought it would do 
quite as well the next morning, when H turned out 
that he had lodged the contents of his two barrels 
in a log of sapin that happened to be against the 
wall. It did just as well. He had shot something. 

" Upon my word, Fino," said my ill-bred brother, 
" if the wolf had swallowed you up, skin and all, 
it would only have been what you deserved. 
You have not got the prudence of a pig in you. 
You knew the wolf was abotft ; pray, why could 
you not keep at home ?" This was more than flesh 
and blood could bear, Mr. Editor, and roused my 
ire to such a degree (half dead as I was), that I 
seized hold of him, and gave him such a shaking - 
as he does not often get. He was just going to 
repay me with interest, when Bombyx kicked him 
down one pair of stairs, and myself down another; 
and then quietly walked away, leaving us to our 
reflections. We soon made friends ; for we were 
very fond of each other, notwithstanding our oc- 
casional quarrels. 

I will just remark that the wolf was tracked to 
some "thick brushwood which grows on each side 
of the "Vtrachere," a small rivulet that runs be- 
tween Chailly and Bel-air, A better " shot" than 
the German, hit him on the right place ; and after- 
wards I had an opportunity of examining more 
coolly the terrible jaw from which I so luckily 
escaped. It was a noble, full-grown female, and 
brought no little profit to its fortunate possessor. 

Convinced you will sympathise with me more 
than my rude brother, I remain always, dear 
Mr. Editor, your affectionate friend, 


Tottenham, March 15th. 



BY F. J. GALL, M.D. 

(Continued from Page 109.) 

We now resume the thread of our dis- 
course — each step we take exciting still*deeper 

3. If the Development and the Perfection 
of the cerebral organs has not been 
complete, the manifestations of the re- 
spective qualities and faculties remain 
equally incomplete. 

Although the energy of the functions of 
organs does not depend solely on their develop- 
ment, but also on their excitability, we may yet 
determine with confidence the degree of develop- 
ment of the brain necessary to its functions. The 
observations of all ages have established, that the 
brain is incapable of fulfilling its destiny when its 
bony case or the cranium has only from thirteen 
to seventeen inches in circumference, the measure 
being taken on the most prominent part of the 
occiput, passing over the temples and the most 
elevated part of the forehead. 

Willis has described the brain of a young 
man. simple from birth : its volume hardly equals 
the fifth part of that of an ordinary human brain. 



M. Bonn, professor at Amsterdam, possesses two 
little skulls of idiots, and the brain of a simpleton 
who lived to the age of twenty-five years. He 
was so stupid, that, though born at Amsterdam, 
they made him pass, for an African savage, and 
exhibited him for money. M. Pinel has a similar 
cranium of a young girl of eleven years, perfectly 
idiotic. Among the anatomical preparations of 
the school of medicine at Paris, is also found the 
undeveloped cranium of an idiot child. I have 
had two similar skulls drawn, taken from my 
collection ; both are remarkable for their small- 
ness. One is the skull of a child of seven years ; 
the other of a girl of twenty. These two indi- 
viduals were perfectly imbecile. I have observed 
heads equally small, in several congenital idiots, 
still living. All these skulls and heads are from 
thirteen to fourteen inches in circumference, and 
eleven to twelve from the root of the nose to the 
great occipital foramen. If dwarfs, who enjoy 
their intellectual faculties to a certain degree, 
appear to form an occasional exception to this law, 
the^ size of the head has not been duly noticed ; 
which, in these cases, is always very dispropor- 
tionate to the rest of the body. Even when the 
head is a little larger than those which charac- 
terise complete imbecility, the intellectual faculties 
are still almost entirely benumbed. 

In the different degrees, which characterise im- 
becility, the faculties manifest themselves in the 
same proportion as the brain becomes more per- 
fect in its organisation. Individuals, who are 
in this degree of development, exhibit some pecu- 
liar dispositions and propensities ; their gestures 
become more significant ; they go so far as to 
produce short phrases sufficiently well followed 
out. The functions thus elevate themselves 
together with the organisation, until the feeble- 
ness of the mind betrays itself in a small number 
of points, or even in a single point. 

We see, by this, that all individuals who are 
reputed simple, are not completely so. Parents 
and physicians sometimes have trouble in com- 
prehending how a child, who acquits himself well 
in all there is to do in the house, and who exhi- 
bits exact sensations, sensibility, and even 
cunning, can be ranged in the class of simpletons. 
Such is, notwithstanding, the state of many 
children, who hear, but do not learn to speak. 
I have directed my attention to this point, while 
occupying myself with the functions of the sense 
of hearing ; and when I treat |of the articulate 
language peculiar to man, I shall show that this 
accident has for its cause an organic malady of 
the brain, and a consequent want of power to ex- 
ercise all its functions. 

At Hamburgh, we saw a young man of six- 
teen, in whom the anterior-inferior parts of the 
head were well developed ; but his forehead was 
hardly an inch in height, because the anterior- 
superior parts had been checked in their deve- 
lopment ; and he enjoyed, in consequence, only 
the exercise of the functions belonging to the 
anterior-inferior portion. He learned names, 
dates, numbers, history, and repeated it all 
mechanically. But combination, the comparison 
of ideas and judgment, were entirely wanting. 
They regarded him with reason, as simple ; and 
could_ employ him in nothing. I shall have 
occasion in the course of this work, to cite- several 

examples which confirm the proposition, that the 
defective development of the brain, or of particular 
organs, has always for its result the feebleness of 
their action. 

4. When the organs of the Mind and Soul Jiave 
acquired a high degree of development and 
perfection, there results to these organs a 
power of manifesting their functions with 
great energy. 

I shall prove the truth of this result, when I 
treat of the influence of the development of 
organs on the exercise of the corresponding 
faculties. I shall show, at the same time, that 
when individuals distinguish themselves pecu- 
liarly, and in a remarkable manner, by a deter- 
minate quality — or when they fall into a fixed 
idea, propensity, partial mania, or monomania, by 
too great exaltation, it is almost always the ex- 
traordinary development of some particular organ 
which occasions it. Without now entering into 
these details, I shall content myself with fixing 
the attention of my readers on the manifest 
difference which every one may remark between 
three sorts of heads, to wit : the heads of idiots, 
the heads of men whose talents are only mode- 
rate, and those of illustrious men, of vast and 
eminent genius. The first are characterised by 
their smallness, as we have just seen, and the 
last by their great size. The heads of idiots, 
unless the brain be otherwise diseased, are 
characterised either by deformity, or their small- 
ness ; the heads of men of eminent qualities, 
by their magnitude. 

This difference is conspicuously evident in the 
productions of the fine arts. We see that in 
their works, which conform to the indications of 
nature, artists make large heads to denote ener- 
getic intellectual qualities, and especially large 
foreheads ; and they give small and depressed 
foreheads, and a head very strong in the posterior 
parts, to individuals who distinguish themselves 
only by qualities of an inferior order. The 
ancients gave to the statues of their priests and 
their philosophers much larger foreheads than to 
those of their gladiators. Remark, especially, 
the distinction they have adopted in their Jupiter 
of the capitol ; the form of no head has ever been 
so strongly prominent in the anterior and superior 
part of the forehead. What a difference between 
this and the head of Bacchus ! 

In all the peculiar cases, in which men of 
talent and genius have not been of large stature, 
their heads are observed to be disproportionate 
to the body ; and we no longer find the propor- 
tions usually adopted for beauty, and which are 
fixed by the form of Apollo. So long as artists 
wish only to represent fine forms, they may, with- 
out doubt, continue to take Apollo for a model ; 
but if they wish to express a great character, or 
great talents, they must sacrifice the point of 
general proportions. 

It is in this way that we must explain the 
errors which several artists have committed. 
Even in the golden age of Grecian art, they 
represented Pericles covered with a helmet, to 
conceal the size of his head. The Athenian poets 
laughed at this head, because they found it dis- 
proportionate to the body of Pericles. I have seen 
the same fault committed by our modern artists ; 



they left the head of Napoleon of its natural 
size ; but, in order to establish a proportion con- 
formable to their ideas, they placed it on a 
colossal body. In general, artists are still, almost 
everywhere, imbued with the prejudices of 
antiquity, or with prejudices which some of them 
have introduced, in relation to what they call 
beauty. Let them be directed to cut in marble 
the bust of a great man of the age, and let 
them meet with unusual prominences — for ex- 
ample, the organ of poetry unusually prominent 
in the head of Voltaire, they will not fail to 
plane away, to soften down these inequalities, 
and even to claim great merit for having thus 
corrected the faults of nature. These great 
artists do not know, that one day the organi- 
sation will explain to posterity the glory or the 
shame of these great men ; and that it will be 
by the fidelity of the forms which they will 
transmit to our grand-children, that men will 
rectify the partiality and the falsehoods of 

Let me be pardoned a little digression on the 
head of the Venus de Medicis. Artists agree 
that this small head has been substituted for 
the true one, which is lost ; and yet they all imi- 
tate it in defiance of the laws of organisation ! 
With so small a head, every woman would of 
necessity be a simpleton; and the artists, cer- 
tainly, will not maintain, that imbecility and 
beauty can be in harmony. 

Those who would satisfy themselves that the 
favorable development of the organs is always in 
relation with the more energetic exercise of their 
functions, have only to examine the heads of men 
who have distinguished themselves by eminent 
talents. Let them observe the heads of Socrates, 
Bacon, Sully, Golbert, Galileo, Boerhave, Hal- 
ler, Leibnitz, Voltaire, Pascal, Montaigne, &c. 

I observe, however, that a man who really 
merits the title of great, but only in a signal re- 
lation, will not always have a vast, extended, 
voluminous head, because he is not endowed 
with great and extended faculties. The greatest 
mechanician or architect, the greatest musician, 
the first painter, &c, may excel in his art, with- 
out the whole brain participating in the great 
development of one or some few of its parts. 

5. It is only by the difference in the organisation 
of the two sexes, that we are enabled to explain, 
how certain faculties are more energetic in the 
Man, and others in the Woman. 

From the different gradations of fibres in the 
brain of the man and of the woman, Malebranche 
attempted to account" for the difference in their 
manner of thinking and feeling. The two 
sexes, both in man and animals, have the same 
brain, and consequently the same organs. But 
commonly, some of these organs are more perfect 
in one sex, and some of the other. The parts of I 
the brain situated towards the anterior-superior \ 
part of the forehead, are smaller in most women ; : 
thus their foreheads are in general smaller and 
shorter. They have, on the contrary, the parts | 
situated in the superior region of the occipital 
bone, much more strongly developed. Their cere- 
bellum is commonly smaller than that of men. 
We may, consequently, assume as a principle, 
that, in the heads of women who conform to the 

ordinary structure, the diameter from the fore- 
head to the occipital bone is greater, and all the 
other diameters smaller. Such are the physical 
differences. Now these differences explain per- 
fectly the superiority of the intellectual faculties 
in man, and the greater energy of the love of 
children in women, &c. Ihe two sexes offer, 
without doubt, a great number of exceptions 
which are the cause that, frequently, the talents 
proper to women are met in man, and vice versa. 
But all that 1 should say here on this point, could 
not be well understood, until I shall treat more 
particularly of each organ of the functions which 
have relation to it. Then only will men be 
convinced, that if certain organs are smaller in 
one sex, their functions are also more feeble ; and 
that if other organs are larger, their functions are 
executed with more energy. It will then be 
seen, that it is not education, but nature, which, 
by means of a varied organisation, has assigned 
to each sex its particular sphere of moral and in- 
tellectual activity. 

6. When the conformation of the Brain of several 
individuals is similar, the propensities and the 
talents are similar, however different the form 
of the rest of the body ; and when the confor- 
mation of the Brain is different, the propen- 
sities and talents differ, ivJiatever resemblance 
may exist in the rest of the body. 

Men of all nations possess all the same essen- 
tial parts of the brain. Hence, there always has 
been, and always will be observed, in all nations, 
the same propensities, talents, moral qualities, 
and intellectual faculties. The differences are 
only modifications, as the differences in the 
cerebral organisation are likewise mere modifica- 
tions. If certain parts of the brain are generally 
very much or very little developed in a nation, 
they will determine the national character, or the 
taleuts of which a nation is more particularly 
possessed or deprived. 

It has always been remarked, that the brothers 
and the sisters who most resemble each other, 
or who, in the form of their heads, have most 
resemblance to one of their parents, also resemble 
each other as to the qualities of the mind and the 
soul. I know two twins, whom it is difficult to 
distinguish from each other, and who offer a 
striking resemblance in their propensities and in 
their talents. Two other twins, the brothers 
Fauche, had many traits of resemblance ; they 
were united from their infancy by an extraor- 
dinary attachment. I have compared with care 
the different parts of their heads. In comparing 
my remarks with their autobiography, which 
they severally brought me in writing, it was 
found that my observations were, in all respects, 
conformable to their own statements of their 
characters. Wherever the development of their 
cerebral organs was nearly equal, the respective 
functions of these organs were the same ; in those 
points in which the different structure of their 
6kulls announced a different development of 
organs, there existed a difference, not less sensi- 
ble in their faculties. Of two other twins, of 
different sex, the boy resembles his mother, a 
woman of limited capacity ; the daughter takes 
after her father, a man of uncommon talents. 
The son displays in all things the most humble 



mediocrity ; the sister, on the contrary, raises 
herself, in many respects, above her sex. 

But, if a case occurs of twins, whose organisa- 
tion is different, it is in vain that diet, education, 
examples, and circumstances are similar — there 
results no resemblance in character. In two twin 
girls, the head and the physical constitution differ 
totally. In the one, nature seems to have thought 
only of developing the bones and the muscles ; 
in the other, she appears to have occupied her- 
self solely with the nervous system. Thus, the 
first is possessed of very moderate intelligence, 
while the second is endowed with brilliant 

7. When the physical Constitution is transmitted 
from fathers to children, these participate in 
the same proportion, in their moral qualities 
and intellectual faculties. 

Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis ; 
Est in juvencis, est in equis, 
Patrum virtus. 

From the time of Horace, men have never 
ceased to observe, that certain moral qualities are 
often propagated for ages in the same family ; 
which proves the close connection between the 
organisation and the exercise of the moral and 
intellectual forces. Hence it happens, not only 
that certain maladies, such as gout, phthisis, 
deafness, stone, &c, but also certain disorders 
considered purely moral, are hereditary. Ganbius 
speaks of a girl, whose father was possessed by 
a violent passion for eating human flesh, which 
induced him to commit several murders. This 
daughter, though separated from him a long 
time, and brought up in the midst of respectable 
persons, was a prey, like her father, to this in- 
conceivable desire of devouring human flesh. 
Ganbius, in relating this anecdote, concludes with 
me, that certain moral qualities are hereditary. I 
shall, hereafter, cite several instances in which a 
propensity to theft, to drunkenness, and even the 
unhappy propensity to suicide, were hereditary. 
Now, how could these dispositions, good and bad, 
be transmitted from family to family, were they 
not founded in organisation ? 

8. The state of Waking, of Sleep, and 
Dreaming, also prove that the exercise of the 
moral and intellectual faculties is subordinate 
to organisation. 

If a spiritual substance, independently of orga- 
nisation, exercised moral and intellectual func- 
tions, how could you conceive that this pure 
spirituality could be fatigued, exhausted; could 
have- need of repose and of sleep ? Sleep is 
nothing but inactivity, the perfect rest of the 
brain in a state of health. During this suspen- 
sion of the cerebral functions, the brain receives 
new forces, and at waking, its functions are per- 
formed with facility. If some cerebral organs, 
irritated by any cause whatever, are put in 
action, while the action of the others is suspended, 
there result sensations and ideas which consti- 
tute dreams. 

The nature of these dreams is almost always 
in harmony with the physical dispositions of the 
individual. The young man dreams of pleasure 
and agreeable events; he swims, he flies with 

voluptuous delight; valetudinarians, male and 
female, meet nothing in their dreams but 
obstacles and crosses. We dream that we are 
dying with inflammation of the bowels, and 
awake with cruel griping. It is the same with 
somnambulism; and hence, the dependence on 
the organisation is manifest. 

9. Every thing which sensibly changes, either 
weakens or irritates the organisation, and 
especially the Nervous System, and also pro- 
duces considerable alterations in the exercise 
of the Mental Faculties. 

It has always been remarked that too rapid an 
increase, or a hastened development of organs, 
weakens their special functions.* This especially 
happens in the climacteric years or periods of 
development, of which physicians and physiolo- 
gists cannot too highly appreciate the impor- 
tance. The mind, the body, all then suffer at 
once. The individual is incapable of steady ap- 
plication, and instruction is at once arrested. 
This state ceases, only, when the interval devoted 
to this development has been passed; and we 
readily perceive that this is the case, because the 
intellectual faculties at once resume all their 

On the other hand, if the intellectual organs 
are developed too early, and kept in a state of ex- 
cessive activity, there will often result an incurable 
exhaustion and paralysis of these organs ; and it 
is thus that men of precocious genius sink into 
mediocrity, and even below it, if the exhaustion 
has been carried to its highest degree. I have 
already said, that the intellectual faculties, which 
are feeble in many children, especially in those 
which have collections of water in the cavities of 
the brain, often become strengthened and de- 
veloped in a very striking manner, when the 
brain has acquired its complete growth and 

Again, it is a constant observation, that, in 
hydrocephalic patients, the intellectual faculties 
are weakened or regained, according as the 
effusion is increased, or as we succeed in les- 
sening it. 

* This is true in relation to growth in the 
natural world. A tree is materially injured by 
hastening its growth. It lives but a short 
period, and it fails to bear fruit oftener than every 
other year. 


" The more (says a writer in the Dublin 
Review) an idea is natural, popular, and 
traditional, the more it is accepted without 
examination, and the more readily perpetuated 
in error." Thus our M Green immortal Sham- 
rock" is sung by our poets, and accepted as 
the " chosen leaf of our country. It is re- 
ligiously stuck in every man's hat, who is not 
ashamed of being a " mere Hirish ;" and it is, 
therefore, a kind of sacrilegious scepticism to 
doubt its truth. It is really painful to check 
such devotion, by informing the public they 



labor under a delusion ; yet we think the fol- 
lowing remarks, the general substance of which 
has already appeared in the Journal of the 
Royal Institution, are worth being noticed. 
It is almost certain that the original plant, to 
which the " Shamrock" was first applied, was 
the Wood Sorrel (Oxalis acetosella). This 
would, indeed, seem probable, if from historic 
evidence we could show, first that the Sham- 
rock, so called, was a plant having a sour 
taste, and eaten as food — neither of which 
qualities are possessed by the modern Sham- 
rock (Trifolium repens) ; and, secondly, that 
the Wood Sorrel existed abundantly in Ire- 
land, in ancient times, while the Trifolium 
family were comparatively unknown there, till 
a very late period. Let us now examine some 
few quotations bearing on this subject. The fol- 
lowing is from Spenser's " View of the State 
of Ireland in Elizabeth's reign :" — " Out of 
every corner of the woods they came creeping 
forth upon their hands, for their legs could 
not bear them. They spoke like ghosts crying 
out of their graves ; they did eat carrions, 
happy if they could find them ; and if they 
found a plot of water cresses,or shamrocks, there 
they flocked as to a feast for the time." 
That the Shamrock was eaten, also appears 
from other authors, as in the following couplet 
from Wythe's " Abuses Stript and Whipt ;"— 

" And for my clothing in a mantle goe, 
And feed on shamroots as the Irish doe." 

So also, in the " Irish Hudibras," 1689, the 
following lines : — 

" S/iam?'ogs and watergrass he shows, 
"Which was both meat, and drink, and close." 

The next quotation, from Fynes Morrison, 
will show that the Shamrock was not only 
eaten, but had also